


The Tempering

by Ebozay



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Pain, Slow Burn, Suffering, Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-02-03 21:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 137,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebozay/pseuds/Ebozay
Summary: After Clarke’s actions in the Mountain she found herself unable to face those she saved, each person who survived merely a reminder of the death she had caused. And so she fled, she ran and she left everything she had known in the hopes of finding herself again.But running from her actions wasn’t so simple when her demons shadowed every step she took and every decision she made.





	1. Prologue

“I think we deserve a drink,” he said as he paused by her side.

“Have one for me,” and her eyes followed the line of people as they moved through the gates of Camp Jaha, and she watched as a woman cried tears of joy and happiness as she embraced another, she watched as a man fell to his knees as hurt and loss and anger slipped past twisted lips.

“Hey,” he said, and she knew she heard the weariness in his voice, the pain and the tired. “We can get through this.”

And she knew she felt the pain in her own heart, she knew she saw the shadows that clouded her vision, that burnt into her mind, that would torment and terrorise and shatter her heart.

“I’m not going in,” and she couldn’t quite look upon the pain she saw anymore, couldn’t even stand to look his way in that moment, and so her eyes fell to the ground, to the grass and rock and dirt underfoot.

“Clarke,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure that she heard correctly, she wasn’t so sure his voice didn’t break, didn’t begin to fray and splinter. “If you need forgiveness,” and he turned to her, his eyes began to understand the pain she must have felt, the decision she knew herself about to make. “I’ll give that to you.”

And she didn’t realise her eyes had met his, that he looked to her with pain open for her to see, and she knew she felt the tears begin to well, begin to cloud her sight.

“You’re forgiven,” and his voice came more quietly now, more pleading.

And she couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, couldn’t bear to see his pain and the desperation that lingered across his face.

“Please,” he whispered, “come inside.”

But she knew she wouldn’t.

And so?

“Take care of them for me,” and she didn’t quite realise her head nodded an acceptance of what it was she knew she chose to say, to do. 

To embrace.

“Clarke,” he stepped closer.

“Seeing their faces everyday is just going to remind me of what I did to get them here—” 

“—What we did,” and his head shook, he moved closer still, and she thought she sensed a want and a need to reach out, to hold her firm, to keep her rooted in place lest she run, lest she flee, lest she turn her back. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

But her gaze turned back to the gates, and she took the short moment she stole to see the pain, the damage and the life that still lingered in those that continued to mill about at the entrance to Camp Jaha.

She turned back to Bellamy. Her mouth opened once, and she wasn’t quite so sure what to say, what to do, what to voice in that moment. 

“I bear it so they don’t have to,” she said simply, the words pragmatic, detached, selfless and foul on her lips.

She saw the acceptance then, and she saw his head tilt ever so slightly as he gazed at her, as his eyes began to water and as his lips slackened.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked, and she knew she heard the fear in his voice.

She took the time to think, to just consider, but the only thoughts that filled her mind, the only thing that consumed her was the pain and the guilt and the anguish. 

“I don’t know,” she said as she looked back at him.

And she saw Bellamy fragment, she saw the resolve begin to crumble and the hurt and pain begin to bleed openly upon his face and so she stepped forward, she took him in her arms and she pressed her lips to his cheek as the tears began to fall from her own eyes.

“May we meet again,” she whispered to him, and she knew she felt his heart beating furiously, she knew she felt his arms close around her and she knew that if she looked back, if she took in Camp Jaha and those she rescued, that her own resolve would have crumbled, would have shattered and left her lost and empty. 

And so Clarke stepped from Bellamy, and their eyes met just once more before she began to move towards the trees. And her feet felt heavy then, they felt wasted and broken and tired, and she felt her step falter just once, just for a moment, just for long enough that she thought she heard Bellamy’s voice echo out to her. But the wind caught it and stole it from her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

The trees this far from civilisation seemed larger than anything Clarke had ever seen before. Their trunks were broad, their branches were curious and defiant as they stretched up into the sky. Even the wind seemed as though it breathed through the forest with a might and a want to be set free, to live without care or worry or fright. And the light dappled through the leaves, it shone patterns upon the forest ground and it was magnetic, it was alluring. 

It was charming. 

But none of that really mattered. 

If only because it was wasted on Clarke as her feet moved steadily, painfully, tiredly, her eyes not quite seeing what was in front of her, not quite taking in the beauty that surrounded her. For Clarke couldn’t really appreciate the beauty, not when her eyes seemed to bring forth memories of long gone foes, of long gone friends and faces and bodies and death she would rather forget.

Clarke stumbled, her foot scraped against a root that clawed out of the forest floor. Pain seared through her palm as her hand shot out to break her fall and she felt the cold of the dirt as her face impacted the ground with a thud.

And Clarke deserved it, she deserved the pain, the frustration and the hurt that seemed to be a constant companion. 

And so Clarke found herself lying on the forest floor as tears broke down her cheeks, her lungs stretching painfully, each breath burning down her throat as she tried to steady her beating heart. 

She wasn’t sure how long she spent lying on the ground, she wasn’t sure how long she spent resenting her choices, her actions. But perhaps she spent too long on the ground when her body began to shiver, when her skin began to prickle, and her teeth began to chatter just a bit, just enough to tell her weary mind that she should have felt cold, should have felt the chill of the coming winter.

And perhaps even the animals around her seemed to sense her desperation because she felt them still, she felt those animals that stalked her, that followed her with curiosity or hunger or intrigue cease their steps, cease their following.

And perhaps they did so simply because she was a ruin, she was little more than loathing, not much more than a bone to chew and spit and discard by the day’s end.

But Clarke forced herself to sit and she brought her hand up to wipe away the dirt clinging to her cheek. 

And she didn’t know what to do, either, she didn’t know just how far she had walked, she didn’t even know how far she could walk before her body gave up, before her legs gave way under her. 

But for now she knew she’d keep walking lest the shadows in her periphery catch her, lest they took hold and dragged her down into despair. 

She looked up into the sky then, and she thought the clouds she saw looked dulled, dark, bruised and full of turmoil, and she tried to imagine what it felt like that first time she had felt the sun kiss her skin, when she had stepped free from the drop pod, when the other hundred had run forth, had embraced freedom with that youthful liberation.

But she couldn’t quite bring her mind that far back, she couldn’t quite bring her thoughts to that happier time. And she knew it to be because those ghosts that haunted her nights stood vigil, stood watch and guard and sentinel barred her from those happier memories.

And so Clarke let her mind relax, or as much as it could. And she let her aching bones settle against the roughened bark of the tree pressed to her back.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke with a start, and she thought she sensed the closeness of a hunter, the closeness of an animal, something skittish, something careful, something not so keen to be discovered.

But Clarke spared it little thought. If only because she didn’t quite care what could and should happen to her as she wandered alone in the forest.

And so Clarke took a deep breath and she found herself sitting with her back to a tree trunk, and she thought its bark looked roughened, weathered and beaten by the elements. 

Her body shivered once more, and she knew the days had begun to chill, to be colder than they had been only weeks earlier. And so she brought her knees to her chest, their warmth just enough to bring comfort to her shivering body. 

She took a moment to really look around herself then, and perhaps now, as she blinked past the sleep and the fatigue, and as she really listened to the forest, she found it silent, her mind perhaps the only thing to disturb the peace.

And it took Clarke a moment of tired thought before she realised just why it seemed so quiet, and she thought it cruel, she thought it barren and humourless that the forest was empty because of the Mountain, because of the acid fog that would descend upon the lands, because of the reapers that would roam  and terrorise those they stumbled across.

The laugh that came free shocked her, and Clarke thought the sound broken, and she was sure she must have looked pathetic, broken and hapless as she sat against the tree as a cracked laugh broke from her lips.

The sound echoed out around her, and she thought it sounded weary and tired and fatigued to her ears.

And it didn’t surprise her when the laugh turned wet, turned ragged.

And it didn’t surprise her when she began to cry again, when she began to sob and crumble under the weight of the lives she had taken.

And it didn’t surprise her when she felt herself slip into a broken stupor, her body shivering to the cold, her mind crumbling to the pain.

 

* * *

 

The wind howled through the trees whose branches seemed more bare than she had seen in days, in nights and moons and suns, but she continued to walk, she continued to push forward, each stumbling step leaving her knees more torn, her palms more bloodied. 

But Clarke didn’t care. She didn’t care because she ran from the pain, she stumbled from the ghosts that seemed to break into her sight and she fled from the responsibility and the hurt and the anguish she felt tearing at her mind.

 

* * *

 

The moon sat lowly in the sky, its light cold and empty as Clarke sat by the sorry excuse for a fire. The flames only just licking at her body, their heat doing little to shield her from the cold.

And so Clarke grimaced just a bit as her stomach growled, as her fingers shook and as her teeth chattered. She pulled the root free from the flames though, its flesh tender, burnt and smouldering. 

She took a disgusted moment to really look at what she held in her hands, and as she eyed it, as she turned it over in her hands, she couldn’t help but to think it looked so familiar, so twisted and broken and melted and boiled to the air that had seeped into the Mountain.

And perhaps even the forests and the lands around her didn’t think much of her meal, if only because she was sure she heard the wind gag to the smell.

And so Clarke brought the root to her lips, she let its juices bleed and burn over her lips and she let the charred and broken flesh burn down her throat as she forced the scraps of whatever plant she consumed down past her hate.

 

* * *

 

“What do you want?” she screamed out into the silence, her hands wringing, her hair matted and torn at the edges, her clothes doing little more than simply hanging limp and impotent off her fleshless body. “What do you want?” her voice echoed out through the forest as her eyes searched for those ghosts, for those shadows that followed her, that haunted each step she took further and further and further away.

“What do you want?” and the words came out a whisper as Clarke fell to her knees, as she felt the cold of the forest floor bite into her bruised flesh. 

“What do you want?” Clarke asked, and she blinked away the tears, she blinked away the regret.

“What do you want?” but Clarke didn’t really think they’d answer her.

“What do you want?”

 

* * *

 

The rain crashed against her shoulders with a mind and a spirit of its own. The drops stung as they bit into her dirtied flesh and she thought the forest swam in the terror of the wind and the elements that buffeted her body.

But Clarke embraced it, she turned her face up into the sky and she held her hands out wide as she smiled into the pain as her body shook with each blow the lands gave her.

“I’m sorry,” and Clarke’s voice echoed out into the wind. 

But she didn’t know who she spoke to, who she reached out for. 

 

* * *

 

Her body crashed and rolled and broke against the ground as Clarke tumbled over and over and over again. Pain erupted across her face as her cheek slammed into the ground only for her body to continue careening down the hill.

And Clarke cursed out the stone that had tripped her, she cursed out the lack of food, the lack of water and sleep that had left her delirious, that had left her lost and unsure with each step she took further and further away from whatever home she had ever had.

And the pain stopped as soon as it had begun, and as Clarke lay on the ground, as she let her body settle from its fall, she tried to think of something a little less bleak than the realisation that she would probably die alone, that she would know only suffering for the last few days she had left.

But wasn’t that why she had said goodbye to Bellamy? Wasn’t that why she had decided to leave, to turn her back on all she had known.

 

* * *

 

Of all the things to kill her, Clarke had never expected a limp to be the thing that did it. But as she limped forward, as her body tried to fight the pain that etched its way up her leg, she knew the damage to be severe enough to slow her to the point of not being able to move, not being able to find shelter for each passing night.

She came to a ragged stop then, and as she leant against a weathered tree, as she took a moment to catch her breath, Clarke tried to think of what to do, what she could do to ease her suffering. But perhaps she thought she deserved it, perhaps she thought she had simply exhausted all her good luck.

Clarke sat down, the forest around her still large, still grand and oppressive, and as she took in the trees the shot up into the sky she thought they looked like giants, she thought them uncaring of the world around them, she thought them uninterested in the trials and tribulations of those that wandered aimlessly under their sheltering shadows.

The wind picked up just a little, and Clarke couldn’t help but wince to the cold that buffeted each little cut and bruise and scrape that littered her body. And perhaps for the first time in days, in nights, perhaps even weeks, she really took a moment to inspect the clothes she wore, the state of what little belongings she still had.

“You stink,” she said aloud, and it wasn’t that she could smell it, if only because she was sure she had grown accustomed to the smell by now. 

But as she picked at a loose strand of her shirt, its thread frayed, broken, smudged and stained with days of grime, she knew to others she must have smelt horrid. Even the animals she was sure had followed her days earlier had given her a wider berth, had not tried to venture too close in their curiosity. And even her hair felt matted and twisted and roughened, and as Clarke brought her fingers through her hair, she couldn’t help but wince and groan and grit her teeth to each knot she found tied through her hair.

Her stomach grumbled, and she felt the hunger gnaw at her, she felt it claw at her insides, and so she fumbled in her pocket, she felt her fingers protest the exertion and she grimaced at the half eaten root she pulled free.

Its flesh looked ragged, mangy, dirtied and sullied, but so far she had found the roots of the blue flowers to be the least poisonous, the least likely to cause her to vomit and to empty what little nourishment she managed to scavenge, and so she grit her teeth just once before taking a halfhearted bite.

She chewed slowly, the juices of the root doing little to mask the acidic flavour that exploded in her mouth. And as Clarke continued to bite little mouthful after little mouthful, she tried imagining what life would have been like had she never known of the ground, if the Ark had never needed to come down, and perhaps she wondered what her life would have been like had she lived the entirety of her life in space, if she had grown, had found a partner, had had a child, had had a grandchild and had died old and frail amongst friends and family only for her body to be floated when the time came.

“You’re a fool, Clarke,” she said, and she winced past the cracking of her lips, the taste of blood at least helping to mask the flavour of the root.

“I’m a fool?” and the question came out lame, her voice broken.

“Yeah,” and she shrugged halfheartedly. “Did you really decide to just leave? To leave everything behind?”

And she thought over the question, she thought over her decision, and she thought over what Bellamy must have been thinking in that moment, and she wondered whether he searched for her, whether he had lied, had said he didn’t know where she went.

But she didn’t think too long, she didn’t let her mind think about those times. Not now, at least.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, and the words came out simple, they came out truthful, they came sincere but too late, and not enough to dull the hurt.

And Clarke knew what she apologised for, she knew to who she apologised.

“I’m sorry, Maya,” Clarke whispered, and she thought of the girl, she thought of her face as she died in Jasper’s arms, she thought of Jasper’s hate, his anger and fury. “I’m sorry, Wells,” and she tried not to think of how she had hated him for a year, and she tried desperately to think of his laugh, his smile, of times when they had been younger, had played chess, had lived without worry.

“I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

The body of water didn’t quite do much more than float and flow before her. But as Clarke crouched by its edge, as she watched and waited, she couldn’t help but think of the animal that had almost taken Octavia, that had slithered and swam its way to her, had ripped into her leg and had dragged her down into the depths.

Clarke threw another stone into the river, her eyes following the ripples on the surface as she waited for any sign of another beast, any sign of an animal that would turn her into a well welcomed meal. But Clarke saw no sign of monster, no sign of serpent, of aquatic beast, and so she rose painfully, her knee protesting the motion.

Clarke limped to the river’s edge, the pebbles underfoot giving way haphazardly with each step she took. And as she found herself at the point where water turned to mud, Clarke began to peel off her top, the shirt frayed, dried to the sun, damp and moistened to the days of travel. The rest of her clothes came next, and as she stood at the water’s edge, eyes scanning just once around her, she felt a sense of isolation, she felt a sense of loneliness that seemed sad to her, that seemed deserved and welcomed. 

And perhaps it was what she needed, perhaps it was the time to be alone, to think and to accept the things she had been willing to do. Or perhaps she simply didn’t know what she wanted. Not when her nights seemed to be filled with pain, not when her days seemed to be filled with aches.

And so Clarke stepped forward, the water freezing her toes and she gasped out in shock as the cold of the water took hold upon her flesh.

But she kept moving forward, she kept taking broken step after broken step and she imagined that each time the water lapped at her flesh was another day of suffering being rubbed raw and clean and reset for the next day.

The water reached her knees then, and the cold seemed to make her knee ache further, she thought it even made the pain more searing, stabbing and jagged. 

And so Clarke shivered as pebbles underfoot gave way to mud, to softened riverbed. And she thought the water around her looked peaceful, she thought it looked calm, blue, cold and absent of worry. 

The water reached her hips then, and Clarke felt her body shiver, she felt her skin prickle, she felt her breath quicken and she tried to fight back the gasps. 

The water reached her waist, and Clarke settled her breathing and she forced her eyes to take in the forest around her. And she saw the trees that stood off and away from the riverbed, she saw them sway to the gentle of a breeze and she saw the leaves and branches dance with each little fluttering the wind let free.

The water this deep seemed more ice, more blue, more crystal than liquid, and as Clarke took in a breath she was sure a mist seemed to echo off her body, she was sure a steam seemed to seep from her flesh and begin to drift upwards in search of escape.

The water reached her shoulders then, and Clarke found herself alone. And as she looked out to the opposite side of the river, as she let her eyes take away the aches of her body, she thought the cold calming, she thought it relaxing, she thought it embraced her and took her to places not so painful.

The water reached Clarke’s chin, it lapped at her cheeks and she felt the cold steal her breath.

And she paused. 

Clarke paused because she felt the water sway around her, she felt it brush against her lips and she felt it steady her beating heart.

Clarke blinked repeatedly then, and she didn’t quite remember how far she had walked into the river, how many steps she had taken, or why exactly she had felt the need to bury herself in water.

She turned cautiously then, her feet just a little unsure with each motion as she looked back the way she had come. And she eyed the small pile of clothes on the riverbed, what little belongings she had barely a thought in that moment.

Clarke turned back to face forward and as she eyed the other side of the river, as she eyed the distance between her and the trees in the distance, she thought it not so far, she thought it close enough that if she made a mad dash, if she fought tooth and nail, if she clawed her way forward and ignored the pains in her body and the hurt in her knee, she might make it.

The thought scared her, too. For she knew she couldn’t swim, she knew she couldn’t even stay afloat. But perhaps that fact simply took hold in the corners of her mind.

And so Clarke took one last breath, she took one last measured inhale, the water lapping at her lips.

And she stepped forward.

She stepped forward and she felt the water brush her nose, she felt it rush against her face in gentle waves and she felt her foot reach out blindly for purchase on the riverbed, on whatever firm ground lay at the bottom of the river.

But her stomach clenched and her heart jumped as she felt it disappear, as she felt it vanish from her feel.

And perhaps she wasn’t ready.

And so Clarke couldn’t help but cry out in shock and surprise and pain as her knee jerked painfully, as she took in a mouthful of water, and as she took in a breath of too cold water. 

She splashed then, she kicked out with her legs like she had seen in the vids, despite the pain and she reached back, she grasped at the water behind her and she felt herself slip, she felt herself tumble and break through the water’s surface as it came to crash over the top of her.

But somehow, someway, Clarke found purchase under her, she felt her foot snag on a branch buried in the mud, on a rock that lay submerged, and she kicked off, she pushed back and she found herself drifting backwards through the water, she found herself tumble just once more before she broke the surface of the water with a a ragged breath and a freezing body.

And so Clarke found herself standing waist deep in the water, drops of it falling from her shivering body as she laughed, as she cried and screamed out her emotions into the void she felt consuming her with each passing day and night.

But she thought she deserved it.

If only because killing hundreds of people wasn’t something she should ever forget. Should ever forgive.

 

* * *

 

Blistered palms and chapped fingers burned and ached and pained. Clarke’s hands moved rapidly, her breath coming out a chatter, and she cursed her stupidity at venturing into the river, she cursed her lack of forethought, at not quite realising just how cold she would feel with nothing to dry her and her pathetic excuses for fires doing little even when she was dry to keep her warm.

But she kept spinning the stick between her hands, her arms burning, her shoulder aching, but she pushed those worries away for the moment as she tried to bring a fire to life. And she knew from her lonely nights that the ache in her arms would last too long before even the first traces of smoke would appear, and so she grit her teeth, she let her blood wet the stick between her hands and she thought of anything that could steal her thoughts for one more night.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t sure how long she spent staring into the bravest of the flames as they flickered before her. But she counted yet another ember that escaped from the fire, she watched as one settled on the forest floor only to simmer and hiss and burn out as quickly as it had sprung free. And Clarke watched as other embers drifted upwards, as they danced through the dark of the night and she wondered what it would be like to live so freely, to have only the wind to worry about, to have no thought, no regret, no anger and frustration and hurt. 

And it was dark. It was night and the moon sat in the black of the sky overhead, its light casting deep shadows throughout the forest that Clarke found herself in. The heat of the flame was enough to keep her teeth from chattering too much though, and for that she was thankful. She was thankful if only because she thought she suffered enough, she thought the guilt of what she had done was enough to keep her nights sleepless, was enough to keep her thoughts broken. But perhaps the cold and the aches and pains of her body would have been enough to distract, to force her thoughts elsewhere. But maybe not.

And so Clarke blinked tiredly, she brought the last of the blue flowered root to her mouth and she bit into it with little worry for the burn down her throat and she tried to lose herself to the rhythm of the chews she took.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered out, but perhaps this time she wasn’t so sure who she apologised to, and for what she apologised for. “I’m sorry you’re dead, I’m sorry I killed you, I’m sorry for everything I did,” and she knew the words to be a truth. “I’m sorry.”

And perhaps she wondered if that presence she felt following her really cared.

 

* * *

 

Sleep always seemed to come in waves, Clarke had found. It would come in moments when she wished to be awake, when she wished to not have her thoughts go to places she didn’t wish them to go. And sleep would seem to escape her, to elude her desires when she lay by whatever fire she was able to conjure up with each night she found herself in. 

But this time she found herself sleeping too fitfully for it to be called sleep, too fitfully for it to be any semblance of sleep. 

Visions drifted through her mind of faceless people, of voiceless pleas and desperate gestures that seemed to claw out to her, that seemed to want to sink their fingers into her. And as Clarke watched and listened she thought those visions looked lonely, looked lost and unsure in their ghostlike movements. 

And she woke 

She woke with a start and a breathless cry of shock. 

It took Clarke long moments of simply blinking away the sleep before she recognised where she was, and perhaps it wasn’t _where_ , if only because she knew herself lost, she knew herself unsure of _where_ exactly she found herself. 

But she knew she was in a forest, that she wasn’t drowning in a sea of anger. 

And so she sighed tiredly, a hand coming to scrape away at whatever slime seemed to be a constant across her flesh. 

But she felt the presence then, she felt the figure that hovered in the corner of her vision and she knew someone sat by her fire. 

Clarke’s hand moved slowly as she groped for a stone, for a rock or a stick or branch, anything to defend or to attack. 

And as Clarke’s fingers closed around the roughened form of a branch she spun around, her eyes wild and scared and angry in the fire-lit moonlight. 

Clarke’s eyes settled on a man who sat opposite her, the fire between them both. But Clarke paused as she took in his familiarity, she paused, her eyes widening, her mouth slackening as she registered the way his eyes creased at the corners, the way his lips quirked up just a little. 

And Clarke knew her own lips began to tremble, began to shake and break as she saw who sat before her. 

“What’re you doing, kiddo?” The man asked and his words came full of kindness, full of warmth and Clarke knew tears began to well in her eyes in response to whatever demon seemed to laugh in her face at this cruel joke. 

And so Clarke let her tears fall free as she embraced whatever semblance of sanity she had left. 

“Dad?”


	3. Chapter 3

“What’re you doing, kiddo?” Her father said, his eyes gentle in the firelight, his hand held up to the flame in marvel of the heat. 

“Dad?” and Clarke knew her words came out uncertain, unsure and a whisper. 

“What’re you doing, Clarke?” He repeated, his eyes peering at her cautiously, full of worry and care. 

“How?” And Clarke’s voice came hoarse as she took in the life in his eyes. “How?” And she thought her voice must have come out broken and too quiet. 

“How?” He asked with a smile full of warmth. 

“How are you here?” Clarke whispered but she thought she knew, she thought she already had the answer to that question. “You aren’t really here, are you?” and she blinked as the words came out less a question, and tinged with just enough disappointment that it hurt. 

“I’m not,” he smiled, but this time it came gentler than before, and Clarke thought the words coated with a sadness she hadn’t heard for a long time. 

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” And perhaps the realisation should have scared Clarke, should have made her feel afraid, but she couldn’t quite find it in herself to embrace that fear. Not when her father sat before her, not when she could see the life still in his eyes and the breath that escaped his lips with each breath. “I’m dying,” she repeated, for surely that was the only reason she would have been reunited with her father. 

“Hey,” he said, and she heard the reproach in his voice. “You aren’t dying, Clarke,” he leant over the small fire and she watched as he reached out, as he gripped her hand tightly and squeezed for a long moment. “You aren’t dying, Clarke.” 

And she smiled, she smiled at the pressure she felt, she smiled at the warmth of his skin, at the way his fingers gripped tight enough for her to feel through the cold of the night. 

“Dad?” She whispered, and Clarke found her eyes pulled from his hand and to his face to see him smiling once more. “Dad?” And she knew she started to cry.

“I’m here, Clarke,” and he whispered it quietly.

“Dad?” And Clarke couldn’t believe it, couldn’t even begin to accept what she saw. “Dad,” but her tears broke her words and she felt herself begin to cry and crumble and crash against the pain in her chest 

“Hey,” And she felt her father rise, she felt him come to sit by her side and take her in a warm embrace as he pressed his lips to her forehead. 

“You died,” and the words only just broke past a sob. “I—” And she couldn’t help but choke on the memory, “I saw you die. I saw you get floated,” and it hurt, the memory bled into the forefront of her mind. 

“I know,” her father said once more, and Clarke felt herself slowly be rocked, slowly be cradled and held close. “I know,” her father echoed. 

She leant into his chest though, she leant into it, she buried her face into the crook of his neck just like she had done as a child and she tried to hold onto whatever it was she found herself experiencing.

And so Clarke lost herself to the feel of her father’s heart as he continued to hold her close and as he continued to whisper words of comfort only for her to hear. 

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to a pain throbbing through her mind and to wetted cheeks. She sat up, she blinked past the sleep and she saw her father sitting opposite her, his eyes peering into the barely aflame fire.

“You’re still here?” Clarke whispered and she thought disbelief and shock and happiness coloured her tone. 

“I am,” he smiled up at her before gesturing to the dulled fire. “Mind if you get that going for me? It’s getting cold.” 

“Oh,” and Clarke bit her lip a little as she realised just how cold she was. “Yeah, I can do that,” and she hoped she could without killing the heat. 

And so she searched for a stick, for something to use, but her father gestured to a branch by her side that lay half hidden under a blanket of dried leaves. 

“Thanks,” Clarke winced as she reached out and took it in her hands. 

“No problem, kiddo,” he answered. 

And so Clarke took the time to usher the fire back to life with a care and an uncertainty she hadn’t felt since when she was a child and her father had watched her tackle problem after problem that she could. 

And Clarke found herself quiet, she found herself unsure of how to voice the things she wanted to voice, but she found herself simply happy to take in the way his eyes followed each motion she took with a pride she had missed for so very long.

And perhaps that was simply the only reason, the only excuse she needed. If only because she didn’t know just how long her injured mind would let her have with her father.

But he smiled again, and she saw the creases in the corners of his eyes take hold and live happily upon his face. 

“Tell me what the ground is like, Clarke.” 

Clarke didn’t quite know how to describe the ground. She didn’t know how to give voice to the things she had seen, had experienced and done. 

But perhaps she could describe the beauty, the way the air felt against her skin and the way sun felt gracing her cheeks.

Or perhaps not.

“I’ve done things,” and Clarke’s lips trembled as she met her fathers gaze, and perhaps she expected to see disappointment, disgust or revulsion. But yet she saw none of that, only understanding. 

“I know,” her father said simply and she saw his eyes turn tender.

“You know?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” he laughed quietly. “I know.” 

And she should have known talking to ghosts would be fruitless, would be pointless, but still, she found herself embracing it. At least it gave her something else to contemplate for a little while.

“It’s because you’re not really here,” and Clarke bit her lip once more. 

“No,” and her father smiled a watery smile. “I’m not really here,” and he smiled as he echoed words from earlier.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” Clarke said quietly. “I hate myself,” and even though Clarke knew her father wasn’t and couldn’t actually be seated in front of her, she still couldn’t find it in herself to look him in the eyes. “I hate the things I was able to do and willing to consider.” 

And Clarke looked back to her father to see that same understanding living across his face.

“You did what you needed to do to survive,” he shrugged lightly. 

But once more Clarke looked away as she felt tears well in her eyes as memories of the control room filtered into her mind, as memories of the halls of the Mountain came crashing back.

But she also tried to think of the beauty, she tried to think of things that weren’t so cruel, that weren’t filled with death and suffering.

“The ground’s everything we ever imagined,” she began. “It’s beautiful,” but Clarke paused as she thought of the beauty of the ground and the way it contrasted with the death and suffering she had seen and experienced. 

“But it’s more than we ever imagined, isn’t it?” Her father asked and she knew he spoke of the suffering and the death, of the grounders, of Trikru and the clans and the warriors, healers and hunters, and leaders.

“Yeah,” and Clarke looked away, she bit her lip and tried to think of something not so infuriating as the subtle raising of a chin, the quirking of an eyebrow and the way lips would twitch at the corners. She tried not to think of the hurt, of the betrayal, of the anger and hopelessness and rage that simmered under the surface.

“You never answered my question, Clarke,” he said after a time, and Clarke looked up to see his head cocked to the side, worry creasing his brow, caring filling his eyes.

“What?” She asked quietly as she tried to turn back what little they had said together. 

“What’re you doing, kiddo?” He asked. 

“What am I doing?” She echoed.

“Out here,” And he gestured around them and to the forest. “All alone.” 

Clarke’s mouth opened, and she tried to think of how to put words to her actions and to her choices and decisions. 

“I don’t know,” she said, and she thought her words came out truthful. 

“You don’t know?” he asked. 

“I don’t,” Clarke challenged only for her father to smile softly. 

“Yes you do,” he replied, and his words came soft and kind and caring. 

“It’s what I deserve,” Clarke said as she thought about the days she had spent alone, the days she had spent wandering the forest in futile search of redemption or pain, and the nights she had spent shivering in the cold and in front of a too small fire. 

“It’s what you deserve?” Her father asked, eyebrows quirking together in thought. 

“It is,” and her voice came out more firm and sure and certain. 

“You’ve been walking around lost for days, Clarke,” he challenged, and Clarke saw his eyes worry, a crease roughening his brow.

“And I deserve it,” and Clarke looked him in the eyes as her voice hardened and as she felt the burning embers of a fire take hold within her heart.

“And why do you deserve it?” he asked.

“I—”

But Clarke looked away, and she tasted the ashen words on her tongue, and she found them vile, foul and distasteful. 

And perhaps she didn’t quite know how to voice what she knew to be true.

“There’s people back there,” and Jake gestured outwards, his hand waving in a lost arc. “There’s people back there who miss you. Who care for you,” and he leant a little closer. “Who love you.”

“I don’t deserve—” 

But once more Clarke bit back the words, if only because she wasn’t sure what exactly she didn’t deserve, and she didn’t know if it was the thought that others cared for her, that others would miss her, would and could still love her after the bodies had burnt and boiled and melted into the very foundations of the Mountain.

“What about those that need you?” Jake challenged, and Clarke saw his eyes hardening a little. “Raven? She’s hurt, she needs help, she needs a friend,” He urged. “And Bellamy? What’s he doing right now?” 

“They’ll be fine without me,” Clarke said, and she grit her teeth as she held her father’s gaze.

“Will they?”

“They’re survivors,” she said, and the thought ached her heart.

“Shouldn’t life be about more than just surviving?” and Clarke knew the words he said, she knew the sentiment and the thoughts and the memories he uttered.

“Don’t,” and she ironed her voice.

“Don’t?” he asked, eyes blinking with an innocence not so sincere.

“Don’t,” and she clenched her jaw.

And so he shrugged once before sighing and running a hand through his hair.

“You’re stubborn, kiddo,” and Clarke saw the slightest twitches at the corner of his lips.

And perhaps it was the strangeness of hallucinating her father, perhaps it was the fact that she must have been talking into the quiet forest for too long, or perhaps it was simply because Clarke could be curled up under the shade of a broken tree, her dying mind simply trying to hold onto any form of bond that it could. And perhaps it was any one of those things, but Clarke couldn’t hold back the laugh, the wretched, wickedly wrought sound burning through her throat as she let her voice fill the forest and the trees and leaves.

But the sounds stopped as soon as they had begun, and Clarke found herself quiet once more, she found herself unsure and uncertain of just what to say and so she let her mouth snap shut with a clicking of her teeth, her mind turning to violence once more.

“I miss you,” and the truth of her words seemed too easy to voice. 

“I know,” Jake smiled warmly at her.

“I thought it would get easier with time,” and Clarke looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I thought I’d learn to accept what had happened,” and she felt her lip tremble. “But each day I wake up and I remember you aren’t here anymore. And it hurts each time,” and she blinked as tears fell from her eyes. 

“Sometimes, Clarke,” and Jake moved to sit beside her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders once more. “Sometimes things happen that you can’t stop, that you can’t avoid,” and Clarke shook her head to his words. “Sometimes things happen that you can’t control, no matter how much you try to do so.”

And Clarke hated each word she heard, each breath she felt brush the top of her head as her father held her close.

“I never wanted to murder anyone,” and Clarke’s voice broke at the edges. 

“I know,” he answered.

“How?” Clarke whispered out to him.

“How?” he repeated quietly.

“How can I live with myself if losing you is so hard?” and Clarke looked up through her tears.

“It’s easy,” he shrugged. “You learn to adapt. Improvise, fix what needs to be fixed and accept that things will break, and the only thing you can do is look for solutions somewhere else. Nothing’s ever really broken unless you give up, Clarke.”

And perhaps his words spoke of the times Clarke remembered in their quarters on the Ark, when her father would talk of the things that had broken, that had been repaired, had been abandoned and patched together with little more than luck and dedication and stubborn will.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” and the admission felt odd, felt unfamiliar on her lips.

“You’ll survive, Clarke,” came the reply, and she felt the words echo through her mind. “You survived the Ark, you survived the Grounders, the Reapers, the Mountain,” and Jake smiled lightly, kindly. “You’ll survive whatever comes next,” and she felt him squeeze her a little more tightly as his words trailed off into a silence.

“I miss you,” she repeated, and she knew she felt his smile lingering across his face. “I miss you every day,” and she bit her lip just enough that it hurt.

“I know,” he said. “Now sleep, Clarke,” and she blinked away the last of her tears to find that the moon still hung lonesome in the sky, that the trees that swayed did so tiredly, and that the cold seemed to have settled around her with little thought of moving for the night.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Clarke asked, and perhaps she didn’t miss the way her voice sounded smaller than she could remember it ever having been before. 

“I don’t know,” her father replied sadly, and this time Clarke knew she felt the hurt in her heart was only for him, was only for the face she tried to hold onto, was only for the memories and the times she wished were still to come. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

“I hope you will be,” Clarke said tiredly, and perhaps it surprised her to find that she felt herself lying on the ground, that her arms hugged herself and that the barely there warmth of the fire did little more than tease the cold more firmly around her shivering body.

And so Clarke leant into the faintest of touches she felt brush her cheek as her father whispered out one last time through her pain.

“I’m proud of you.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to the sun’s rays slicing through the leaves and branches of the trees that stood surrounding her. She blinked back the sleep and she sat, her body protesting the movements.

It took her a moment of quiet uncertainty before the memories of the conversation she had the previous night came back, and it hit her softly and gently, it hit her too soon for her weary mind, and so she couldn’t hold back the sob and the laugh and the disappointment as she looked around only to find herself, the trees and the grass and stone and sticks that covered the forest floor. 

She stood then, her body shivering to the cool of the morning, she stretched, her body screaming out in pain and fatigue, and she bit back the groan as she began to feel the days of constant moving take hold.

And she knew her feet were blistered, she knew her palms were scraped raw, that her arms and legs her bruised, that her hair was matted and dirtied and that her clothes hung to her a little too loosely.

Even her mouth tasted foul, her teeth fuzzy, her tongue too parched and thickened and slow in her mouth for comfort. 

But she pushed those thoughts aside as she kicked at the dying embers of her fire, the ash happy to dance on the gentle breeze as it flitted away.

“Goodbye, dad,” she whispered out, and she looked to the place on the ground where she had first seen him, where he had sat opposite her, but this time she didn’t see any trace of his presence, she couldn’t see the ground his body would have disturbed or the patterns in the dirt his movements would have created. 

And so she sighed, she blinked back whatever pain tried to escape and she turned her back to the memory as her feet began to take her further and further and further away.

 

* * *

 

Clarke didn’t know how long she walked, she lost count of how many times she had fallen, and she lost count of how many times she had split open a cut or oozed a bruise too far for comfort. But she found herself leaning against the grandest of trees as her legs burned and her lungs ached and her stomach growled out its discomfort.

But she felt that same prickle on the back of her neck she had felt only days earlier, and perhaps at first she had considered it her minds way of telling her to be wary of the forest, of the ground and the beasts that had lived and survived for so long. And perhaps it was her mind telling her she was hunted, she was followed, stalked and watched.

But as she thought over the things that had happened, she found herself uncaring if it truly was a beast waiting to strike, and she was just a little intrigued at the thought that maybe, just maybe it was her mind telling her that someone else would return to haunt her, that someone else would come to laugh in her face or make her feel ashamed, make her feel broken, guilty or lost.

She sneered at the thought, she sneered at whatever foolish hope seemed to take hold and she kicked the tree’s trunk hard enough for her eyes to water as she hopped on her foot.

But perhaps she enjoyed the pain, the sensation of it burning through her toe, the feeling of it taking hold deep down into her bones.

If only because it helped her forget whatever demons lingered in her past, that she had turned her back on and had tried to walk away from.

And so Clarke pushed off from the tree and began to move, each step she took causing a pain to shoot up her knee, each stumble pulling a wince and a groan from chapped and broken lips.

 

* * *

 

The realisation had never dawned on her, she hadn’t even considered the possibility, the fact that things had once existed, had once lived and breathed and stood. But as Clarke looked through the break in the trees, she found herself peering at the ruins of what must have been a small town.

She took in the first building, and she thought the facade crumbling, she thought it wrought, rusted and twisted beyond its years.

But perhaps bombs and destruction had that effect on things. 

Clarke sat, eyes still taking in the ruins she saw, and she found herself leaning against the roughened bark of a tree as she considered what to do. But she was in no rush, she was in no hurry to explore, to discover. 

And so she let her eyes move from the ruins, and she took a moment to just take in the forest around her. And the trees were still grand, their bark still weathered and beaten to the storms that would rage through the forests. Bushes and leaves and sticks and stone littered the forest floor, they crunched underfoot and they brought with them a chill that trapped a cold in the sun starved forest floor.

Clarke looked up at the tree tops overhead, and she marvelled at the way the light didn’t quite make it too far through the canopy, she marvelled at the light that seemed to reach downwards with a desperation and a prayer, and she marvelled at the way the sun’s rays seemed to cease to exist midway in their voyage to the ground, how they seemed to lose the will to shine before even reaching the forest floor.

And if Clarke had been less broken, she would have thought the forest beautiful.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t entirely sure how long she sat with her back to the tree trunk as she looked at the ruined facade of the building before her. But the wind changed, and she thought she sensed the sun beginning to dip below the horizon through what little of it she could see through the canopy. 

She rose to her feet with a groan and she felt a gentle pressure on the back of her neck as her thoughts swam and twisted with images of reapers, of monsters and animals that could be lurking in the ruins.

She stepped forward, the motion cautious and unsure, and she paused for a moment at the tree line, where the forest floor seemed to give way to firmer ground, to cracked ground. She looked at the building for a long moment then, but she shivered as the wind picked up, as it seemed to bring a chill upon her shoulders.

And Clarke thought spending another night alone in the elements to be unwanted, she thought the suffering to be unending, and she thought that it couldn’t hurt to seek shelter, to try to find just a little warmth.

At least for one night.

And so she stepped forward, eyes squinting in the setting sun’s light. Her feet padded across what she realised to be paved ground, whose cracks were split by vines and roots and grasses and plants that took control, that wrestled the ground into twisted shapes and broken pieces.

She saw the crumbling remains of a building that had long since toppled, a grand tree rising up from its centre where a roof once lived, whose walls were smoothed and softened to the wind, whose twisted metal remains were picked bare from years of survival, from years of grounders taking any and all that they could.

And so she passed that building, its walls doing little to hold back the wind, and she passed another whose shattered remains littered the floor, whose bones were covered in the greenest of mosses, in the darkest of roots that clawed out from the ground. And Clarke passed ruined skeleton after ruined skeleton, each building crumbled and broken, each one’s death a distant memory.

She found her finger trailing the walls though, and she found herself marvelling at the feel, at the weathered concrete, at the stone that had once been commanded by people, who had lived and woken and gone about their days with little worry of tomorrows, with little care for much more than simply living.

And she wondered what it must have been like to not suffer, to not live with the constant fear of attack, without the constant anguish that buzzed in the back of her mind that never left her alone.

And Clarke thought it would have been nice to forget, to not have to suffer.

But she came to a pause.

She came to a pause and she looked at the remains of a building that stood before her. She saw its walls, the brick and metal and concrete and twisted body only barely holding together, sections of it clinging together with little more than a desperate stubbornness that she thought familiar. A fallen tree lay across one section, its trunk moss covered, branches strewn in every direction, leaves, green and red and brown and decaying alike all scattered as they littered the ground. No roof remained, only the crumbling beams and rotten metal that lay twisted and rusted to the elements. Not even doors or windows, or even the signs of them were distinguishable from the destruction of the crumbling facade.

But perhaps for the night, Clarke could call it home.

And so she stepped forward, eyes searching for a patch that could be a little less cold, a little less wet and damp and filled with pain.

Clarke sat under the shade of the fallen tree, her back to smoothed stone, to ancient ruins and she looked back the way she came to find the forest swallowing each ruin, signs of existent not quite visible, not quite there, and she knew that if she let herself lose her mind to the pain that she wouldn’t be able to find any semblance of civilisation, that she would simply forget where she was, what she had done and why she had decided to walk and to travel and to push herself forward despite the pain.

And so Clarke let her eyes close, she let her hunger fill her mind and she let her thirst burn down her throat as she tried to send her mind to happier times as the last of the sun’s light brushed against her face.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s body shivered in the dark of the night and her eyes didn’t quite see whatever it was that seemed to creep out from the shadows. The moon hung sentinel in the sky, and she thought the stars stood watch, and she thought them lonely, distant, too cold and empty. 

She wrapped her arms around her legs as she brought her knees to her chest, and she tried to fight back the chattering of her teeth, she tried to fight back the way her body shook to the chill, and she tried to fight back whatever beast watched her, whatever creature she sensed lingering in the periphery of her vision.

But most of all?

She tried to ignore the man, the boy, the person who sat opposite her, who simply watched, who simply smiled sadly, whose eyes held a depth and a warmth and a sadness she tried not to recognise, that she tried not to forget and that she tried to let fade from her memories lest they eat her up with guilt and responsibility and regret.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him, and she saw him reach out, she saw his finger push forward a pawn, its colour white, its body shimmering in the dark of the moon’s light.

“For what?” he said, and his voice brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Clarke whispered as she finally let herself look him in the eyes, as she finally let herself see the blame she knew would and should have lived there.

“You don’t have to be,” he said, and as Clarke saw him pull his hand back, as she saw him smile, she thought she didn’t see blame, she thought she didn’t see distain or hate or revulsion.

“It’s my fault,” Clarke said, and she blinked as tears began to fall, as pain began to take hold for yet another night.

“I don’t blame you for anything,” and Clarke saw him smile a little less sadly.

“Why?” she asked into the emptiness.

“Because you’re my friend, Clarke,” and she saw him gesture to the chess board sitting in front of him. “It’s your move.”

And so Clarke let her lip tremble as she bit into it and tasted the iron and the blood and the hurt.

“Ok.”

And not for the first time she found herself wishing Wells had never died.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s your move,” he said, and Clarke watched as the smile creased the corners of his eyes.

“Ok.”

And so Clarke reached out, fingers shaking just a little as she tried to recall which piece to move after so long.

“How are you?” he said, and Clarke looked up as he watched and studied the board between them.

“You know,” and Clarke knew her voice sounded juvenile, sounded stubborn, sounded small and childish. 

“I’d like to hear you tell me, though, Clarke,” and she watched as he smiled a little more.

She looked away, and she thought over his request, she tried thinking of whatever pains were running through her mind, she tried sifting through the anguishes, the rages and the hurts. 

“Everything I’ve done since coming to the ground has ended in death,” and it surprised her when the words she voiced came out unwavering, came out strong and sincere and believed.

“Really?” and an eyebrow raised cautiously.

“Really.”

“Clarke,” Wells said, and she saw his smile turn down, turn just a little sad. “You know that’s not true,” and she felt the click of the chess piece held in her fingers as she moved it into place.

“It is,” and she levelled her chin, eyebrow quirking in defiance.

“It isn’t,” and she watched as Wells took a pawn, lips twitching in humour as he tucked it into the darkness that surrounded them.

“Yes,” and Clarke grunted out in frustration and pain as she felt her back protest the little movements she found herself making.

“Jasper?” Wells countered, and she knew he spoke of the spear that had pierced Jasper’s chest. “The virus? Finn?”

Clarke looked away then, and she knew he looked at her expectantly, she knew he would wait for her to break the silence first. And she knew she didn’t wish to do so, she knew she didn’t wish to accept what little good she had done. If only because the pain and the suffering she had caused must, and should always outweigh whatever good deeds she had already done and would ever go to make in mornings and sunsets to come.

And yet,

“I—” Clarke glared as Wells snatched one of her chess pieces, as he replaced it with his own, eyes sparkling in the dimmed moonlight.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “Go on.”

“I,” and she paused for a moment as she thought over what it was she had been about to say. “I don’t know.”

And she knew she sounded pathetic, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“You don’t know?” he said, and she saw him mull over the piece she moved. “You’ve done things—”

“I have,” she cut in.

“Clarke,” and she saw the reproach in his eyes. “You’ve done good things,” and he scratched under his chin briefly. “You saved Jasper. You saved Finn, you kept people alive when the grounders used the virus. You tried to save Triss.”

“Yeah,” and Clarke found her mind latching onto his words. “Tried, Wells, tried.”

“Lincoln?” he continued. “You helped bring him back.”

Clarke looked away, she bit her lip and she tried thinking of what else she could say, what she could voice to change the topic, to not let herself think back too long.

“Can we talk about something else?” and perhaps running from her responsibilities and actions was something she had come to grow accustomed to.

“Sure, Clarke,” Wells smiled, and she knew she missed the warmth in the gesture and the understanding in his eyes.

But yet again Clarke found herself looking away, her gaze trying to peer into the dark of the forest and the stone and rock and twisted, broken metal that clawed through the lands around her.

“I miss you,” she said, and she couldn’t quite find it in herself to look him in the eyes once more, the regret ever present in the back of her mind.

“I know,” he answered and she heard his quiet sigh.

“I miss this,” Clarke continued, and she found herself gesturing to the chessboard between them. “I miss a lot of things.”

“I know,” and she heard the gentle clink of a chess piece moving across the board as Wells made another move.

Clarke’s lip trembled then, and she knew the words that had begun to form on the tip of her tongue, that had already taken hold in her mind, that she wished to say.

“I regret a lot of things,” she said, and she forced herself to look Wells in the eyes, she forced herself to hold his gaze in the quiet of the night.

“I know,” and she wished so very much that she could have reached out, could have taken him in her arms and held on for as long as she could.

“I hate what you did,” and Clarke felt her breath come out shaky. “I hate that you stole a year from me,” and she ironed her gaze as he looked away quietly. “From us.”

“I know,” Wells said sadly. “But that’s what friends are for, Clarke,” and he reached forward, hand closing around her own as she held a chess piece in her fingers. “You lost Jake,” and Wells squeezed. “I didn’t want you to lose Abby, too.”

“So you sacrificed us?” Clarke whispered. 

“No,” and Wells shook his head. “Not us,” and he shrugged and smiled. “Just me.” 

Clarke blinked back the tears, or at least she tried because she felt them wet down her cheeks as she saw his gaze follow a tear that traveled across her face. 

“There was no us without you, Wells,” Clarke said. 

“I know,” and Wells paused, but as Clarke took in his features, she was sure he had more to say, more to voice. “You shouldn’t live with regret, Clarke,” his voice said after a moment.

“But I do,” she said. “There’s so much I regret.”

“I know,” and he smiled as her eyes rolled as he repeated his words once more. “What do you regret?”

“I—” and Clarke bit back the words for a moment as she thought and pondered and tried to collect whatever seemed to drift through her mind.

“You wish I never came down, don’t you?” he offered. “You think if I’d stayed on the Ark that maybe I wouldn’t have died?” and he paused as she found herself nodding. “You wish I never took the blame, that I never made you hate me?” 

“Yes,” and her voice came out unwavering.

“You regret my choices.”

“Yes,” and she felt her heart ache as she let his image solidify in her mind, as she committed it to memory.

“You regret how you spoke to me? How you treated me when we landed?” and she remained quiet throughout his words. “You regret not being able to say goodbye?”

“I do.”

“You don’t think you deserve forgiveness.”

“I don’t.” 

“Why?” 

She looked away once more, and she found that he had brought their conversation back to moments earlier, to the pains and hates and angers in her mind.

“I committed genocide,” and she felt the words ashen on her lips. “I killed an entire people.” 

“You did,” Wells nodded. 

“There were children,” Clarke continued. “People who helped us. Who were friends. Who wanted things to change, too,” and Clarke found her fingers trembling. “And I killed them.”

“Why’d you kill them?” he asked.

“You know,” Clarke said, and she looked away, she looked away from his kindness, from his understanding. 

“Tell me,” and she didn’t miss the slight hardening in his voice, the challenge, the push.

“They were going to kill my friends,” and Clarke’s mind turned to Raven, turned to her mother, to the others who had been strapped to the benches, who had been drilled into.

“And the grounders,” Wells said. “Didn’t they deserve to live without fear of the Mountain? Of the reapers?” 

And Clarke nodded slightly, and she knew his words made sense, she knew the horrors that the Mountain committed were atrocious, were inhumane, were despicable and horrendous. 

“But it doesn’t make it any easier,” Wells finished quietly.

And Clarke found her tears falling knew, she found herself feeling every pain, every ache and hurt that bent her mind and battered her body.

“Do you regret pulling the lever?” he asked after a moment.

And as Clarke looked him in the eyes, as she met his gaze and as she found herself thinking of how she’d found herself in the position, she thought the answer to that question surprising.

“No,” and her voice came out steady. “I don’t.”

“Because it was the only thing you could have done.”

“Yes,” she answered.

“But it doesn’t get any easier,” he repeated. “You’ll live with the consequences of your actions,” he said. “You’ll learn to accept them in time,” and Clarke listened as his voice filled her mind. “You’ll blame yourself at first. You’ll blame someone else later,” and she couldn’t quite help but find her mind turning to others, to subtle glances, to daring dashes through the forests and to roars and screams and pressures and pains and the softest of touches that made her stomach churn, her blood boil and her mind scream. “And you’ll live with what you’ve done for the rest of your life,” and she blinked away the tears as Wells moved another piece across the board. “And you won’t ever forget the sacrifice you made so that others could live,” and he eyed the chess board for a long moment. “But that means it was important. It means it was worth it. The pain means you did it for the right reasons, that you cared.”

“I wish I never had to do it,” she said.

“I know,” and Wells smiled through her pain. “Checkmate.”

Clarke looked down in surprise, and she found the chessboard scattered of her pieces and she found her king cornered, and it saddened Clarke to find that their game had come to an end as abruptly as it had begun, and that their time had come to an end, too.

“Do you remember the promise we made each other?” Wells asked, and Clarke saw him look up into the sky as stars took hold within his eyes.

“Yes,” Clarke said as she found herself looking up. “I do.”

“I know you’re hurting right now, Clarke,” and she sensed Wells rise, she sensed him move closer to her. “But there’s beauty out there. You only need to look for it.”

And she found herself crying, she found herself embracing the pain, embracing the way his words settled into her mind, how they seemed to take hold and shape her thoughts.

“Can’t you stay?” Clarke asked as she leant into his touch, into the softest of brushes of his hand as he wiped away her tears.

“No,” and Wells smiled sadly from where he crouched before her. “I can’t follow you,” and Clarke let her eyes close as Wells leant forward and pressed cold lips to her forehead. “Not this time.”

And so Clarke watched as Wells stood and held her gaze for one last moment before he slipped into the darkness that hung heavy upon her shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to a cold that seemed to cling to her body, that seemed to seep into her very pores. Her eyes blinked open carefully, and she found the sun dappled through the ruined stone that stood around her, its heat doing little to warm her shivering body.

She sat, a dirtied hand rubbed against her face as she ignored the protests of her body and the grumbling of her stomach.

Yet again Clarke found her eyes searching for the ghost, her eyes falling to where Wells had sat opposite her, but all she found was the emptiness of undisturbed leaves and dirt and stone and stick.

And perhaps Clarke should have found herself saddened, found herself desperate, even. But as she let her mind recall the conversations she had had, she found an odd sense of calm settle over her. 

If only because she thought her demons weren’t so cruel. At least for now.

 

* * *

 

Clarke eyed the blue flowers, eyes tracking each little mark in the ground at their base. These ones looked enough like the flowers whose roots she had eaten days earlier, but different enough for her to not quite be sure, to not quite trust that these roots wouldn’t leave her convulsing on the forest floor curled in on herself as she emptied her stomach. 

But the scuff marks, the dirt and mud that had been dug up by a small creature, that had itself tried to reach the same roots must have meant that these ones were at least somewhat edible. 

And so she grit her teeth as she reached out and began to dig with aching fingers as she clawed dirt away in search for a root that could sate her hunger for a little while longer.

 

* * *

 

Clarke ran fast. Or at least as fast as her stumbling, aching, pained body could. And she ran because of fear, she ran because of some innate instinct that told her to run, to escape, to put space between her and whatever foul beast had disturbed her blind stumble through the forest.

And she ran from the roar that had echoed out through the trees, that had bounced against every rock, every branch and tree trunk. 

Clarke’s legs burned, her arms swung by her sides as she forced herself further and further away, and she cursed her boots that seemed to stab into her feet, she cursed her hair that seemed to tear and cling to every branch that whipped her face leaving behind bloodied welts and broken flesh.

But she found herself standing still as fast as her fearful sprint had begun.

Clarke looked around herself, she peered into the trees and she tried to listen past the beating of her blood.

But she couldn’t hear the animal following, she couldn’t hear the beast and its lumbering through the forest and perhaps she had imagined it, perhaps she had imaged being followed, being hunted.

Or maybe it was her mind’s way of telling her she was losing grip on reality, she was losing herself to the emptiness of the forest. 

And maybe she didn’t care anymore.

 

* * *

 

The light shone fiercely as it broke through the trees that surrounded her, the green of their moss aflame with the yellows and oranges of the sun. The glinting of the forest around her made it seem as though the trees themselves had been set on fire, and the light blinded, it burnt into her eyes and Clarke continued to walk forward as she wrapped shivering arms around herself as the temperature seemed to drop with every step she took.

She had walked the entire day, only stopping for moments to catch her breath, to pick at the roots of the blue flowers she found, and she had walked blindly, had stumbled and fumbled and fallen her way further and further from wherever the Ark had come to rest against the ground.

She thought over what Wells had said to her, too. And she knew her anger and frustrations were real, she knew she hated the way her eyes watered with every recollection she found herself recalling, and she knew she despised every action she had taken that had ended in someone’s death. 

And she found it disgusting, she found it foul that the thought of one person’s death alone wasn’t so piercing anymore. And she found it disgusting that she could now think of Finn’s death, could categorise it, could place it amongst others that seemed fitting. And she found it disgusting that she could even fathom categorising death, that she could put a label to it, that she could consider why she had taken a person’s life, the severity of its loss.

And she knew she hated it. 

But what else was she to do?

But perhaps the only solace she could find in this stupid wandering was that her mind had decided to greet her sleeping moments with ghosts of loved ones, of people she had lost, of people who had been taken from her too soon. 

And perhaps she wondered who might come to greet her when the sun found itself sleeping for another night.

 

* * *

 

The stars seemed to be able to peer down into the forest just a little more curiously now, and it wasn’t so obvious, it wasn’t so apparent, but Clarke was sure each tree sat just a little further from its neighbour than the trees of days past. But she kept walking, she kept stumbling and she found herself trying to search for a place, search for somewhere to call home for the night.

Or maybe she had resigned herself to walking throughout this night in particular. If only because she was sure it was colder now, she was sure she deserved the pain, or maybe she was simply afraid to face whoever it was that would greet her.

But Clarke found herself paused, she found herself standing by a tree whose trunk seemed beaten to the elements, and she found herself looking out into the quietest of clearings.

Gentle flowers littered the grass, each blade dancing to the stillness of the air, each shadow rippling to its neighbours movements. The moon seemed to wash the clearing in a pale light, too, its brilliance a little too calm, a little too serene for the thoughts Clarke knew hid in the corners of her mind.

But as she eyed the swaying of the grass, she found herself thinking it would be softer than the dirt and stone and stick of the forest floor, and so she took a step forward. And she paused.

She paused as her feet brushed against the very first blades of grass and she waited. 

She waited for she was sure this mirage to be a trap, to be the world laughing in her face, but for why? She wasn’t so sure.

And so she took another cautious step forward, eyes peering back into the dark of the forest, each shadow a demon she thought too afraid to follow her out into the beauty of the clearing. 

Clarke took another step, the grass coming to brush against her calf, against her ankle and knee and bleeding cuts. 

And she took another, the swaying of the grass enough to pull her mind from the demons for long enough that she realised she now stood in the middle of the small clearing, that she seemed to be bathed in a light that did little to wash away the shadows under her eyes and the dirt and grime and blood clinging to her body.

But perhaps she thought it fitting. Perhaps she thought it fitting that not even the beauty of the night could mask her suffering. And she was sure it was important, that she shouldn’t forget. 

And so she sat, she let her legs cross and she leant back on her hands as she tried to think of the promises she had made, the promises she had kept and the promises she had broken.

“I wish you could see this, Wells,” she said into the dark, her eyes turning upwards as she searched for the constellations she knew, had memorised, had longed to explore and see from the ground. “I wish you were with me.”

But it saddened her to find that she couldn’t quite recognise them, couldn’t quite see them and find them, no matter how hard she searched.

And perhaps that was fitting.

Perhaps it was punishment for her actions.

“I wish you never left me,” and she didn’t quite know who she spoke of. She didn’t know whether she spoke of her father, of Wells, of someone else. 

“I wish you never made that choice without me,” and she blinked away the tears, and she blinked away the pain and the hollowness of her beating heart.

“I hate you,” and she found herself trembling, she found herself lying on her back surrounded by the grass. 

“But most of all?” and she let her voice drift on the quietness of the wind, her gaze following the lone cloud that floated through the sky. “I hate myself.”

And it didn’t surprise her when she heard her words answered.

“You shouldn’t hate yourself, Clarke,” and the voice brought tears to her eyes, and this time she didn’t try to hide from the pain, she didn’t try to shy away from it. And she didn’t because she knew it to be a disservice, to be a sin she couldn’t and shouldn’t let live.

And so Clarke turned her head, she let her gaze fall to the person who lay down beside her, who smiled sadly, whose hair curled and frayed and danced on the breeze, whose eyes didn’t quite hold as much blame and hate and pain as Clarke was sure should have existed for her to see.

“Hi, Clarke,” the voice said.

And so Clarke let her heart break as she let the suffering take place in her mind.

“Hi, Maya.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Hi, Clarke,” Maya said, voice quiet and tender in the wind. 

“Hi, Maya,” Clarke answered, and she found herself staring, wide eyed and eager to replace the images that flashed through her mind.

“You shouldn’t hate yourself,” Maya repeated, and Clarke found herself blinking away the guilt as she tried to steady her beating heart.

But she knew Maya’s words too easy, too simple. For she knew she couldn’t help but to hate what she had done, what she had chosen to do.

“It’s not that easy,” Clarke said, and perhaps she didn’t quite know why it wasn’t so easy.

Perhaps she wanted to wallow in self pity, in her own guilt. Or perhaps she didn’t quite want to face the pain all those people must have suffered in their last moments.

“It’s not,” Maya shrugged from where she lay back in the grass. “I guess.” 

Clarke turned back to the stars, gaze focusing somewhere into the depths of the night as she tried to think of what she could say, what she could do to help ease the hurt beginning to form in her mind.

“It’s beautiful,” Maya said, and Clarke glanced to her side to find Maya staring up into the stars too, the girl’s eyes wide and shining to each little refraction of light that made its way to the ground.

And if Clarke was truthful with herself, she’d agree, she’d admit that there was still beauty in the lands, that the way the stars shone and sparkled and blinked out their lives was charming. But yet, she didn’t quite feel like she deserved to admit any of those things.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Maya said, “I understand.”

And perhaps Clarke found herself just a bit thankful.

“Thank you,” she said.

And so Maya fell quiet for a long moment, and Clarke took the time to steady her breathing, to try to wrestle her thoughts into something less damaged. She turned her attention back to the stars then, and she tried to see the beauty Maya had spoken of, had seen, had longed for. 

And if Clarke was honest with herself, she could see it. She could see the beauty in the way the stars seemed to float in the dark, and in the way the wind seemed to breathe through the trees that danced in the periphery of her vision.

“It itches,” and Clarke turned to look at Maya whose gazed had turned to the grass they both lay atop. “The grass,” Maya finished. 

“Oh,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what else to say.

“I always dreamt of this,” and Maya raised a hand as she reached upwards. “I always dreamt of being able to feel the grass on my skin, to feel the wind on my face,” and Clarke blinked wetly. 

“I’m sorry I took that from you,” and Clarke felt it so very much. 

“You shouldn’t be sorry, Clarke,” and Maya turned back to her, face scrunching just a little as the grass brushed against her nose.

“But I am,” Clarke said.

“I know,” Maya’s voice came quietly then, and Clarke saw her think, she saw her ponder and contemplate a thought. “I don’t blame you,” Maya said. “You know that, right? Clarke?” 

“I—” but Clarke choked on her words, she looked away and she tried to think of how to say whatever it was that took a hold in her mind.

“We were always told that the ground belonged to us,” Maya said, and Clarke wiped a hand across her face as she turned back to the girl. “We were told that the grounders were savages. That they didn’t deserve the ground,” and Maya grimaced just a bit as her words drifted on the wind. “We were so wrong,” and Maya lifted a hand up to her face and she let the wind dance between her outstretched fingers. 

“Some of you were wrong,” Clarke said, and she thought of those that had helped, that had wanted a better life, a different life. 

“No, Clarke,” and Maya shook her head. “We all were,” and Maya smiled sadly. “We were happy to continue to live with what we did for generations,” and Maya sighed a little. 

“You tried to change things,” Clarke whispered. 

“I did,” Maya said. “But it was too little, too late, wasn’t it?” and her voice came quiet, came accepting and understanding. 

“You tried,” Clarke repeated, and she tried to think of Maya’s smile, she tried to hold back the shimmering of the girl’s face as it began to morph, as it began to bubble, began to shift into her nightmares.

“I always dreamt of feeling the grass on my skin,” Maya said, and her words came out a little too sickly for Clarke’s comfort. 

“Please,” Clarke whispered, and she found her eyes closed shut, fists pressing into her eyes as she tried to stop whatever demons seemed to be taking hold, that seemed to be bringing fort—

“Clarke,” and she felt Maya’s hand close around her wrist gently. “It’s ok, Clarke.”

And so Clarke’s eyes opened, she blinked through the tears, and she looked upon Maya only to find the girl smiling sadly at her.

“I—” Clarke paused for just a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Maya said, her words tinged with a sadness. “But you shouldn’t be,” and Maya squeezed just once before letting go of Clarke’s wrist. “I don’t deserve it. Just like I don’t deserve to feel the grass,” and Maya sighed.

Maya paused again, and Clarke watched as the girl thought over something else, as she considered something more.

“Our people weren’t so different,” Maya said, and Clarke turned back to the skies, she turned back to the stars and the faintest of clouds overhead.

“We weren’t,” and Clarke thought of how the Ark had sacrificed people, had executed them for the smallest of infringements, of how they had been willing to sacrifice a hundred children in the hopes of finding a new home.

“But we were,” Maya said, and at that Clarke turned back to her, eyes questioning and searching in the dark as Maya’s gaze continued to look up into the stars. “We both did things to survive, that never should have happened,” and Maya shook her head, hair happy to dance on the wind. “But when it came down to it, your people were willing to change and mine weren’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Clarke argued, but she wasn’t so sure she knew what she argued for.

“I do,” and Maya turned back to her. “And because of that I don’t blame you, Clarke,” and she smiled once more. 

And perhaps being confronted by forgiveness was worse, perhaps Clarke thought it just that more searing, just that more blindingly painful. If only because she didn’t think she should ever be given forgiveness for the things she had done. 

And yet, she found herself recalling her father’s words, of how things could and would happen that she couldn’t control. And she found herself thinking of Wells, of how he had said that living with regrets was pointless, of how she had to be willing to sacrifice more than herself. And she thought of how Wells had said the pain meant it had been worth it, of how it had meant she understood the decision and the weight of her actions.

“Life is only what we make of it,” Maya said quietly, and Clarke blinked through her tears. “And we made a nightmare of it,” Maya continued. “Every night I would think of the children who lost parents to us. I’d think of how we bled grounders, of how we were content to let it happen. I’d rationalise, say it was needed for us to survive, I’d let myself forget that those people we caged, that we bled were people, were mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters and friends.”

“You tried to change things, Maya,” Clarke said.

“I did,” and Maya smiled as she looked to her. “But it was too late,” and Maya blinked away her own tears. “What does it say of me and those that helped when the only time we tried to change was when we were confronted by your people? When your people had been able to try to adapt, to change to life on the ground?” 

“We weren’t so great either,” Clarke said, and she believed it.

“Maybe you weren’t,” and Maya pulled at a blade of grass before holding it up to the wind. “But compared to us, you weren’t so bad,” and she paused for a moment as she thought over worries and pains. “We set a pretty low bar, didn’t we?” 

“You did,” Clarke said, and she found it odd that she could find just a little hint of humour in their conversation. But she had missed this. She had missed being able to talk with someone her age without threat of death and violence. 

And yet, 

“But yeah,” and Clarke’s thoughts soured at Maya’s words, the realisation that everything on the ground was now dictated by needing to survive. “We didn’t deserved anything less than what happened to us,” and Maya sighed as she raised a hand to the moonlight.

Clarke recoiled at the sight though, and she found her stomach churn and clench at the blisters, at the pus and mucus and bubbled flesh she saw beginning to spread over Maya’s fingers. 

“Please, Maya,” Clarke whispered as she tried to look away, as she tried to stare into the forest, into the stars. 

“It’s ok, Clarke,” Maya said. “It doesn’t hurt. It already happened,” and Clarke bit back the sob she felt begin to take hold as she began to smell, began to hear and taste what had happened. 

“I’m so sorry,” and Clarke felt the rapid beating of her heart as it slammed in her chest.

“It’s ok, Clarke,” Maya repeated. “I don’t blame you,” and Clarke tried not to look, she tried not to sense. “Please,” and she felt the pain in Maya’s words. “Look at me, Clarke,” and Clarke heard the quietness to the girl’s words, she heard the care and understanding.

And so Clarke pulled her gaze from whatever haven they had sought and she found herself holding Maya’s gaze.

And it terrified her. 

Maya’s face blistered, it bubbled, bled and oozed a pus and a liquid that smelt rancid, that coiled its way through her nose, that brought a tang to her tongue that made her gag and recoil to the scents.

But Clarke held Maya’s gaze, she made sure her eyes held steady and she tried to let what she had done find a place somewhere in her mind that wasn’t so haplessly broken.

“I wake up every day to their faces,” Clarke said with trembling breath.

“I know,” Maya said sadly.

“I wake up every day and I wish I never had to do it,” and Clarke blinked through the pain.

“I know, Clarke,” Maya said again, and Clarke saw her lift the corner of a broken lip, the cracks in her flesh pulling too gruesomely for Clarke to fully comprehend. “But this wasn’t your fault,” and Maya gestured over her face. “They forced you to do it. To save your friends,” and Maya reached out slowly, her fingers cautious as they closed around Clarke’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said once more, and she brought her own hand up to wipe away the tears, to wipe away the burning in her eyes. 

And so she took a moment to steady her breathing as her eyes closed and as she tried to send her thoughts somewhere less pained. 

Clarke opened her eyes after a quiet moment to find Maya’s face smiling at her, her face returned to the image Clarke had tried to keep in her thoughts since the Mountain. She searched for signs of distress though, she searched for the pain and the hurt and blame, yet she found none. Clarke only found a quiet contentedness that met her gaze, that held no blame, no suffering, no anger or hate or fury.

“We all did things, Clarke,” Maya said to her. “Our people did things to survive, our people did terrible things to survive,” and Clarke looked away for a moment as Maya paused to collect her thoughts. “But what my people did was only for us, we didn’t care about the grounders, and we didn’t try to stop things until it was too late,” and Maya blinked past her own tears as she reached out and turned Clarke’s face back to her. 

And so Clarke leant into the girl’s touch, she leant into the warmth of Maya’s hand and she tried not to recall the last time she had seen the girl’s face.

“You did what you did for love, Clarke,” and Clarke knew she began to cry when her chest ached, when her shoulders shook and when her vision blurred. 

“I wish I never had to,” Clarke managed to choke out.

“I know,” and Maya rolled a little closer on the grass and wrapped her arms around Clarke’s shoulders. “But that means you shouldn’t blame yourself, not fully at least,” and Clarke took in the subtle scents that seemed to still cling to the other girl’s hair.

“It’s hard not to blame myself,” Clarke said and she felt a cool shiver run through her body.

“I know, Clarke,” Maya said as she squeezed tightly before letting go, before making space between them both again.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Clarke said, and she made sure their gazes met for a moment. 

“I know that, too,” and Maya smiled a little. “But sometimes you can’t save everyone,” she finished.

And Clarke nodded, and the motion felt heavy, felt a little stiff, unfamiliar and distant to her. But yet she found herself nodding slowly as she thought over what Maya had said.

“I know,” Clarke said eventually, and she saw Maya smile lightly. “I know.”

“Now sleep, Clarke,” and Maya leant forward and pressed her lips to Clarke’s forehead quietly, and Clarke thought the gesture tender and careful. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to the sun streaming down upon her face. The intensity of it made her eyes water, made her nose sting and the sneeze that came next echoed out through the quiet of the forest.

Clarke sat, body protesting each little motion, and she looked out to find herself alone, to find no trace of Maya. It didn’t quite sadden her though, if only because she had expected it by now, she had come to realise that her mind seemed content to steal away any semblance of company when she wasn’t so tired.

And so Clarke rose to her feet, looked around herself at the flattened grass that only showed one person had laid down to sleep, and then she turned her back to the world, to the pain and the guilt that didn’t seem so blinding, and she began to move in any direction other than her past.

 

* * *

 

Clarke stumbled through a bush, the thorns prickling her skin, pulling at her pants and causing scratches and cuts to drag along the exposed flesh through her torn clothes. She ignored the pain though, and she kept one foot moving in front of the other, each step causing a blister to burn, an ache to ache and a pain to throb through her flesh and muscle and bone.

But the sounds of running water pulled her forward, the sounds of water splashing against a riverbed and the trickling sounds as it flowed through the lands the only thing her tired mind could really focus on.

Clarke wasn’t suicidal, she wasn’t so determined to curl up and to die. If only because she thought that too easy, she thought death a too simple end goal, a too lenient punishment, if only because she thought it an insult to not live, to not accept and to not let what she had done fester in her mind.

Her throat seemed parched, too, her stomach growled, and her vision seemed to blur and dance on the horizon as she pushed forward, and she couldn’t recall when she had last eaten, when she had last had something more than the shrivelled remains of a burnt root or the barest drops of water that she had managed to scavenge. 

And so Clarke continued to move as the sounds of the river drew her closer and closer, and throughout all her blind stumbling she was sure she sensed the animals that survived on the ground, that hunted and preyed on those weaker than them. And she knew that now she had become the hunted, she sensed eyes cautiously following each movement she made, and perhaps she didn’t know whether she cared or not.

 

* * *

 

Clarke paused by the river’s edge, her eyes trailing over the rapidly flowing water. She thought it fast enough that if she weren’t so careful she could lose her footing and in her weakened state probably be swept away. But she thought it slow and steady enough that she could chance stepping forward enough to drink, to bathe.

And so she stepped forward, her eyes taking in every flowing ripple that the water made in its thoughtless journey. The pebbles that met her feet caused winces to fall from her lips with each step though, and Clarke couldn’t help but resent her choice to walk away, to abandon everything. If only because she hadn’t quite considered how painful it would be to walk on blistered feet.

But she came to a pause by the water’s edge, she eyed the water that lapped at the pebbles. She looked around herself then, and she thought of her experience at the last body of water, at how she had stripped and stepped further and further until she couldn’t quite stand comfortably, and she didn’t think she wished to do such a thing a second time. 

And so Clarke sat, eyes searching the water’s surface cautiously as it continued to flow past her, the sun glinting off its surface. Her shoes came off first, her nose wrinkling to the smells, and she couldn’t help but wince and recoil at the sight of her blistered feet, at the blood and pus that had oozed and dried and smeared over her feet. 

And she knew enough from her time on the Ark, and she knew enough merely from common sense that she should try to clean her wounds, try to keep them dry and away from moisture, and so she sighed forcefully as she began to roll the legs of her pants up lest they get wet.

Clarke hobbled closer to the water’s edge then, and it took her a moment of awkward shuffling before she was able to dip her feet into the cool water as it flowed and slid across her tender flesh.

She sighed and grimaced at the discomfort and pain and she reached out with tentative fingers as she began to scrape away at the days of filth blood and flesh clinging to her feet, each motion bringing tears of pain to her eyes, but she ignored the burns, she ignored the stinging and she tried to let her mind focus on something else, on something different. 

But it didn’t surprise her to find that her thoughts were content to return to nights she would rather forget.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t sure how long she spent with her feet in the flowing water, but she had spent long enough that the morning’s chill was replaced by a midday heat as the sun beat down upon her shoulders, and she wondered just how predictable the whether patterns could be on the ground. If only because she had thought it to be growing colder, she had thought it to be growing closer to winter.

But maybe not, and so she sat back, she let her feet dangle in the water’s edge and she watched as the filth she had cleaned was carried away with the river’s current.

And perhaps, as she looked to her shoes, she thought herself just a little foolish at the realisation that she had no means of drying her feet, and that simply putting her shoes on would be a foolish thing to do.

But Clarke looked around herself, she eyed the quiet of the river’s edge, the chirping of birds in the distance and the way the sun found itself reflected in every ripple across the water’s surface. 

And perhaps she didn’t think taking a break could be so bad, could be so dangerous. 

And so Clarke pulled her feet from the water, she shuffled back onto drier ground and she let her thoughts go where they please as she leant back and let her eyes close as the sun’s light washed her face in warmth.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t so sure what woke her, she wasn’t sure whether it was the awkward sounds of wet flopping, was the crunch of pebbles being shifted, or the sense that something lingered close by.

But Clarke’s eyes snapped open, she sat and she searched for whatever had disturbed her foolish sleep.

It only took her a second of searching in a wide arc before she heard the rustle in the bushes of an animal that must have sensed her alertness, and it took her only another second of searching before her eyes landed on what must have woken her. 

A fish lay on the river’s edge, blood oozing out of  cuts on its side where something had clawed at it.

Its scales were red, its body long, fat, and streamlined, its mouth opened and closed helplessly and Clarke grimaced at the blood she saw pooling where it lay. 

And so Clarke rose to her feet, she ignored the pain of the pebbles pressing against her tender flesh and she looked once more for whatever animal had tried to fish, had tried to snatch the fish away, and she searched the river’s edge, she searched the forest that stood back, and she searched every shadow and bush. 

And Clarke waited, she waited for another long moment, the only sounds to reach her ears being the fish and its dying struggles. But hunger won out, and Clarke found herself shuffling over to the fish, eyes peering over her shoulder for just a moment before she crouched, eyes taking in the clawed wounds on its side. 

“Sorry for stealing your meal,” Clarke said out into the quiet of the forest, and she wondered what kind of animal had been so daring as to try to hunt right by her, and yet had been so skittish as to flee at the first sign of her waking.

She reached for a large stone then, and she took in a steadying breath as she considered just where on the fish to strike to end its suffering, and so she raised the stone above her head, she grit her teeth and she brought it down onto the fish’s head with a grimace.

And perhaps eating something more substantial than burnt and charred roots would do her fading sanity a little good. 

 

* * *

 

Clarke stood before the large cave, her eyes wide, her nose wrinkling to the smell of the fish. She didn’t quite know how smart of a decision it was, either. She didn’t know if walking forward, if taking another step would seal her fate, and she didn’t know if trying to survive another night alone in the forest would do the same.

And Clarke considered that the cave may have already been taken by an animal, by something large, by something beast like that would and could chase frightened girls through forests, would trap them in the remains of those who came before, who would cause eyes to roll, annoyances to be voiced and grievances to be aired.

But for now, Clarke had more important things on her mind.

And so she hitched the dead fish higher onto her shoulder and she stepped forward, the cave’s shadow happy to swallow her as she stepped from the setting sun’s light.

 

* * *

 

To her surprise, and perhaps to her disappointment, the cave had been neither mysterious nor grand. It had ended as quickly as it had appeared in the forest’s incline. The shadows had caused the depths of the cave to seem cavernous yet Clarke had found that the cave had only been as shallow as a pebble’s throw, but perhaps that had been good. If only because it meant the chance for something to be lurking deeper in it to be nonexistent. 

And so Clarke found herself sitting just past the cave’s entrance, her back to its roughened side as she watched the fish cook over the fire she had made. 

She had taken her shoes off, too, the heat from the flame enough to dry her feet and her shoes a little more than they had been for days. 

Clarke looked outwards then, and she took in the forest, she took in the setting sun and she took in the sky.

And Clarke thought the landscape beautiful, she thought it filled with awe. And she wondered what Wells would think of it. She wondered what he would think of the way the cave seemed to sit just a little elevated above the trees. Enough so that she could look out over the rest of the forest, that her gaze could skim the tops of the trees. And she wondered what Wells would think of the way the leaves seemed to dance, seemed to flicker and sway to every breath of wind that rustled the treetops. And Clarke also wondered what Wells would think of how the setting sun’s light seemed to set the trees on fire, how the cold mist of a soon to be winter seemed to bring forth a fiery haze that filled the forest at this time. 

And Clarke knew Wells would have thought it beautiful, she knew he would have loved, would have longed and enjoyed and cherished every moment to come.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke whispered out, eyes turning just once to the cooking fish before she found herself looking at the faintest wisps of a shadow that seemed to dance in the corners of her mind. “Wells would have loved it,” she said, and she felt the presence sit by her side.

“It is a pity he died,” the voice said, and Clarke found the truth terribly sad. 

And so Clarke brushed a finger away from her eyes as she turned to face the person who sat next to her. Clarke took in the leathers and furs that clung to the woman’s body, the braids that wove through her hair, the smearing of black paint that made her eyes shine, the proud line of her cheeks and the way her jaw clenched just a little as she looked out to the horizon.

“I never thought you’d be one of my demons,” Clarke whispered, but perhaps she should have expected it.

But the woman turned to her, lips turning into the faintest of smirks as her eyes flashed a warning and a mirth.

“Do not fear your demons,” Anya said.


	6. Chapter 6

“Do not fear your demons,” Anya said.

Clarke laughed though, and she was sure the sound came out more wheeze than she had intended. But she fell silent as quickly as she had laughed.

And so Clarke turned her gaze outwards, she let the setting sun and the glowing of the treetops steal her sight and she tried not to let the regret and guilt take hold as she felt Anya’s presence follow her gaze outwards.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said after a long silence, and she felt Anya shift subtly, the woman perhaps shrugging, perhaps nodding in acceptance of her words. “For everything,” and Clarke knew her words to be echoes of things she had already said, had already done.

Anya remained silent by her side though, and Clarke looked to find the woman glaring at her, and as she met the glare she found it to morph in disgust, into disappointment and pity.

“You disappoint me,” Anya said simply, and Clarke couldn’t help but flinch from the woman’s words. “You give up now? After everything you have done?” and Anya sneered a little. “You are exactly what I thought you to be when we first met,” and Anya looked away and out into the setting sun and sleeping forest.

And Clarke found herself unsure of what to say, of how to respond to Anya’s hostility, to her anger, her frustrations and her temper.

“I—” but Clarke couldn’t quite find the words.

“What?” Anya said in answer, her gaze still turned outwards as the fire cast long shadows across her face. “You believed I would come to say you have made me proud? That I forgive you for killing my warriors? For burning down a village?”

But as Clarke thought over what Anya said, she couldn’t find it in herself to blame the other woman, for she knew the anger, the resentment, the pain and the anguish to be justified.

“I’m sorry you never got a chance to see that the Mountain was destroyed,” Clarke said instead, but perhaps she didn’t really know what she had intended to say.

“As am I,” Anya said, but Clarke was sure she felt the woman’s gaze on her, she could feel it burn into her flesh as she looked out to the forest.

“What?” Clarke asked as she turned to see the woman studying her in the darkening firelight. 

“Why are you here?” Anya questioned as she gestured into the cave. “Why?”

And Clarke took a chance to look back into the shallow depths of the cave, and perhaps she saw the flutterings of ghosts in the shadows, perhaps she saw the vestigial remains of lonely thoughts or even some other unkind dream that seemed to linger just out of sight and reach.

And she took a chance to think then, and she thought of why she had walked away, why she had decided to leave everything behind, of why she continued to stumble forward blindly, each step causing her more pain and anguish.

“I needed to get away,” Clarke said, and she found herself thinking of what she had said to Bellamy at the gates, and she tried to recall the words she had said, the things she had felt in that moment. “Everything I left was a reminder of the things I did,” and Clarke blinked away the tears as they began to settle in her eyes once more.

“And what did you do?” Anya asked.

“I killed people in the Mountain,” and Clarke bit her lip. “I killed children, I killed friends, people who wanted to help.”

“What of my people?” Anya questioned, and at that Clarke blinked, she tried to think of what Anya meant, of what she tried to pry from her.

“Your people?” and Clarke winced as Anya’s rage seemed to appear in the time it took her to blink past the pain and confusion.

“You think so little of us?” and Anya sneered more fiercely than Clarke could imagine. “You think so little of my warriors, of the village you burnt down that those deaths do not even weigh on your mind?”

“The village was an accident,” Clarke said, and she didn’t quite know whether she wished to lessen the rage she saw building upon Anya’s face, or to explain her actions, or to remove the blame, to shift the blame and to replace it something less piercing.

“So because you did not mean to kill those people in the village you feel no remorse?” Anya said, and Clarke blinked back the pain she felt building.

“That’s not what I meant,” Clarke whispered, and she saw Anya’s features harden even further.

“You can not lie to me, girl,” Anya said, and Clarke recoiled as the woman leant forward and flicked her in the centre of her forehead. “I am in there.”

“Then why?” Clarke snapped, “why are you here? Why are you here?”

“Because you are a coward,” Anya answered. “You run from your responsibilities, you run from your fears and you do not face them as a warrior would,” and Anya let her lip curl in frustration, “you are worse than the Mountain.”

“That’s not true at all,” Clarke fund herself feeling an anger bubbling under the surface then. 

“Yes,” and Anya lifted her chin in defiance. “It is,” and she came to stand before Clarke, her body casting a long shadow across the cave’s walls as she began to pace back and forth at the cave’s opening. “You came to the ground, you invaded it, you assumed none lived and you destroyed what you could. You did what you wished with little worry and little care for those that suffered the consequences,” and Anya rounded on her, she loomed over her, eyes ablaze. “The village burnt to the ground from your missiles—”

“They were flares—”

“You burnt the village to the ground with your missiles because you were careless—”

“It was an accid—”

“So that makes your actions forgivable?” Anya snapped. 

“No—” and Clarke’s head shook as she tried to sort through what Anya said, what she challenged, what she argued and roared into the night. 

“You are worse than the Mountain,” and Anya leant closer from where she stood until her breath brushed against Clarke’s nose. “The Mountain was a disease. It was a plague. A horror that tormented our lands. But what it did was understandable. It killed. It took. It terrorised, it had purpose,” and Anya spat at her feet. “And it did those things to survive,” and Anya snarled as she reached forward and took hold of Clarke’s throat. “But your people?” and she squeezed. “Your people came to the ground and did all those things,” and Clarke felt her tears begin to break her vision into piece. “Your people did all those things without care, and without purpose.”

“We didn’t know,” Clarke said, and she found her voice to be small, to be unsure, uncertain to the words she said.

“And that does not make it any better,” Anya answered before letting go of Clarke’s throat and coming to sit opposite her. “So why do you run from your past? To seek forgiveness? To seek punishment? To give up? To die?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke said, and she found her voice coming a little harder. 

“Why do you run, Clarke?” Anya pressed, and Clarke couldn’t quite decide whether it hurt more to look away from the woman, or to hold her gaze, to see the anger, the pain and the blame that still survived in the fire of her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you run, Clarke?” Anya repeated, her head tilting to the side as she continued to stare at Clarke.

“I don—”

“Why do you run?” 

“I—”

“Why?” and Anya’s voice filled her ears, they filled her mind.

And Clarke found thoughts come screaming into her consciousness. And she thought of everything that had happened in her life. She thought of her father telling of the fault in the Ark, she thought of how she had decided to help, to do something, and she thought of how her father had been arrested, she thought of how she had watched him executed, of how his body had been ripped from the Ark.

And Clarke felt the pain of that moment crash through her mind, and she couldn’t help but to close her eyes, she couldn’t help but to shake her head and try not to live through the year of confinement, of solitary imprisonment that had left her heartbroken, desperate and hopeless.

And Clarke found images flashing behind her eyelids of being told she would be sent to the ground, and she found herself picturing the moments when she had first landed on the ground, of how the wind had felt against her skin. And she thought of Wells, of how he had come down to the ground to be with her, and she thought of the pain his death had caused, of how she had felt guilt and anger and hurt and regret. 

And Clarke knew she began to cry more fiercely as she remembered the way it had felt to plunge her knife into Finn’s heart, she remembered what it had felt like to rub and rub and scratch and pick at the blood that had coated her fingers as she tried to erase the memory of what she had been willing to do.

And Clarke hated that images of death seemed to fill her mind, she hated how she seemed to recall the moment she had killed the grounder who had kept her prisoner after being captured, of how she had been told to save Anya’s second, Triss, and she remembered how she had failed, of how she had thought she would die by Finn’s side.

And she hated it. She hated knowing she had killed to save herself. 

And Clarke hated knowing that when she had been attacked by the grounders at the drop pod she had been able to close the door on Finn, on Bellamy, and she despised knowing that she had been able to pull the lever that burnt Anya’s warriors, that had ripped and torn and baked flesh from bone.

“Why do you run, Clarke?” Anya said.

And she knew. She knew why she ran.

And as she let the realisation crawl its way into her mind, as she let herself really consider it, she found herself sickened, she found herself disgusted, horrified and revolted. 

“Why?” Anya said once more.

And Clarke couldn’t help but to let her thoughts turn back to the Mountain, to being captured, to seeing the caged grounders, to seeing them bled, to discovering just what those in Mount Weather did to survive.

And she found herself thinking of the missile that had bombed Ton DC, and she remembered what had been said, what the woman had convinced her to do in order to survive.

“Why do you run, Clarke?” Anya repeated.

And Clarke shook her head as her thoughts solidified as memories of the Mountain’s siege took place in her mind, and she remembered the realisation that a deal had been taken to exchange her people for others, she remembered the realisation that her people would die, that her people would suffer. 

And she remembered the anger, the hurt, the fury and the heartbreak as she had decided to kill everyone who had lived within the Mountain.

She even remembered the smell. She remembered the taste on the air, she remembered how thick it had been, how heavy on her tongue the air had tasted, and she remembered the bodies, the death, the pain and the accusation in lifeless, boiled eyes.

“Why do you run from your demons, Clarke?” Anya asked.

“I’m afraid,” Clarke whispered as she let her eyes open, as she found Anya seated before her, the woman’s gaze no less fierce than ever.

“What do you fear?” 

“I was afraid that I’d lose myself,” and Clarke looked away, she pulled her gaze away and she tried to think of how to say what she wanted to say. “I’m afraid—” and she choked on her words, the sound came broken, wet and thick in her throat. “I’m afraid because I’ve killed so many people,” and Clarke blinked back the guilt. “That it became so easy. That I could weigh someone’s life over another’s,” and she felt her lip tremble, she felt the blood on her tongue and she felt the pain as she bit into her lip. “I was going to lose myself,” and she shook her head. “I needed to get away, I needed to make sure I’d never be put into a position that would make me choose who lives and who dies,” and she found her heart break as she realised just how much her decisions seemed to not quite hold her hand back anymore. “And I’m afraid because I know I _can_ do that. I know I _can_ choose. That I _can_ decide who lives, who dies,” and Clarke felt her voice break. “I never wanted that, I never wanted to know I had it in me to choose who got to live and who got to die. I never wanted to know I could make those decisions, that I could give up someone because I didn’t care for them enough over someone else,” and Clarke felt her nails dig into her palms as she tried to feel the pain of those she had killed.

“And so you run?” Anya said. “You run instead of facing your actions? You run instead of accepting your actions?” but as Anya’s words trailed off, Clarke was sure she heard the faintest hints of softening in the woman’s voice.

“I run because I’m a coward,” and Clarke wiped a bloodied, dirtied, weary hand across her face with a wetted sniffle and a ragged breath. 

“Yes,” Anya agreed. “You are a coward,” and Anya sighed as she leant back from Clarke and turned her gaze out to the forest once more.

And in the silence, Clarke found her thoughts deafening, she found them incoherent, unable to be processed fast enough to make sense of. But still, she tried. She tried, if only because she thought it a disservice to those she had chosen were not to live, and she did so because she thought she deserved whatever pain and suffering she could find.

“I know you hate me,” Clarke said, and she found herself watching as the sun began its final dip below the horizon as its rays blinded her vision and burnt away the beauty of the lands. “I’d hate myself,” and Clarke tried to blink away the images that lived in her mind. “But I’m sorry,” and Clarke let the tip of her tongue run against the jagged cut her teeth had left in her lip. “I’m so, so sorry,” she finished quietly.

“I know,” Anya said, and Clarke found the woman’s words to be quiet, to be understanding. “And you will learn to live with your actions,” and she felt Anya shift a little from where she sat by her side. “Or you will die,” and Anya shrugged. “Just like my warriors. Just like the Mountain,” and Anya turned to look her in the eyes. “And just like me.”

“How, Anya?” Clarke asked. “How am I supposed to move past what I’ve done?” and Clarke felt her voice crack just a little as Anya’s gaze softened. “How can I let myself move on? I don’t deserve to.”

“No one deserves anything,” Anya answered. “And only you can learn to move on. I can not make the decision for you.”

And Clarke wiped the blood from her lip with a growl and a frustration, and she was sure memories of the smoke, of the stench of burning flesh began to wind their way through her mind.

“But,” and she looked up to see Anya’s gaze trained somewhere outside. “Perhaps the first thing you can learn is that you can not always control what happens, only how you react,” and Anya scratched at an itch under her eye. “Or perhaps not,” Anya added after a moment. “If you are weak, then you will simply curl up under a tree and die.” 

Clarke wasn’t sure whether she enjoyed Anya’s brashness, she wasn’t sure whether she thought the woman’s words were even helpful. But perhaps she could appreciate the sentiment. Or as much as she could knowing everything she heard was simply a ghost of a woman that her tired mind seemed happy to torment her with.

“I’m sorry you died,” Clarke said eventually, and she met Anya’s gaze with a truthfulness that she hoped tempered her sadness and her regret. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

And Anya paused, and Clarke saw the woman’s gaze soften as she continued to look out into the distance, as she continued to take in the approaching night and the sparkle of the stars that began to find their place in the sky.

And perhaps Clarke thought apologising could be a good place to start, she thought it should be the first thing she could do to make amends, at least until the end.

“I’m sorry, Anya,” Clarke finished, and she watched as Anya turned to face her with a sad smile and a quiet thoughtfulness.

“Your fish is burning.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s feet ached as she continued to walk the ridgeline of the valley, her steps stumbled and her breaths came out ragged and broken and tired with each motion forward. To her left stood the vast forest she had walked through for however many days she had been stumbling through the forest, and to her right stretched valleys and plans and pockets of trees that seemed to thin out further and further into the distance.

Clarke wasn’t sure how long she had walked without companion, without even an echo of another ghost, and she wasn’t sure whether she missed it, she wasn’t sure whether she longed for some form of intimacy or and she wasn’t sure whether it was simply another way for her to suffer.

But yet, she kept moving forward as the days turned to nights, as the nights turned cold and as the days woke her to cool winds, to crisp bites of air and to her breath rising before her very eyes.

Clarke stumbled again, and as she fell forward, as her hand came out and as she felt the sharp burn as rock cut into her palm she found herself lying face down in the dirt as the cold sun beat down upon her back, her shirt torn, her flesh exposed to the elements and her hair matted, knotted, dirtied, pulled and frayed as it bloodied against her face.

Clarke began to cry once more, and she knew this time that no tears would come. She knew this time that her eyes would simply sting and burn and itch and dry out further as her throat dried with each day she couldn’t find water, with each day she couldn’t find shelter or food or rest.

And she thought it ironic that her very last meal had been the burnt remains of a fish, that had been charred, broken and tasteless upon her tongue.

But perhaps she thought it fitting, too, that she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to the world, wouldn’t even be able to cry one last painful sob as her dehydrated body didn’t seem capable of doing much more than breathing and crying out in protest to each movement she forced upon her broken body.

And so Clarke didn’t fight the pull of her eyelids as she felt the weariness take hold, she didn’t fight the urge to let her eyes close, to let her breaths still and to let her mind begin to fall into an endless slumber.

 

* * *

 

It took her a long moment to wake, it took her a long moment to realise that her thoughts were alive, that her eyes were closed and that her body shivered in the cold. 

Clarke’s eyes opened, and she cursed out she grunted and groaned as dirt stung into her eyes as she blinked back the daylight that seemed to piece into her head, that made her skull throb and her vision swim in a haze.

And if she was cognisant enough she would recognise the signs of dehydration, she would even recognise the danger she found herself in, but yet, she found herself not so caring, not so focused on anything other than whatever had woken her.

And so she forced herself to her feet, and she grimaced at the dried blood she left behind in the dirt, and as she came to a shaky stand Clarke thought her eyes not quite so focused as they once were.

Clarke peered down into the valley as the sun shone upon her face, and she blinked past the pain and she forced herself to see what little she could.

The plains stretched out far, the land seemed to shimmer in the cold of distant mountains she could only just spy in the haze, and she thought she had three options left for her to take. 

Clarke looked behind her and back at the trees. And she wasn’t so sure in the moment, but she thought after what must have been weeks of aimless wandering that she had come to the border of Trikru’s lands. She thought that this must have marked the edge of a new clan’s territory. And Clarke knew if she chose to do so, if she chose to take another step forward she could lose herself to the world, she could lose herself to the responsibility and to the regret and guilt. 

And she turned forward once more. And she saw the lands split, she saw them stretch out in two directions.

To her right was the valley that carved into the lands, that pulled rock from the earth and mountains into the skies. Rocks, both jagged and grand carved their way further and further into the distance, and yet again, Clarke thought she knew which clan must have lived there, and she knew which clan, whose warriors wore grey and white furs would have been well suited to the snow she could spy and to the shards of rock that shimmered grey and charcoal to her eyes.

And maybe if she searched for a quick death, for a fast death, she would go that way, if only because she had heard whispered stories of the Azgeda, of how harsh their lands were, how easily people lost their lives to the brutality of the frozen wilds.

But Clarke didn’t think she deserves a quick death.

And so she turned to her left and she took in the plains that opened up, to the smallest pockets of trees that thinned out the further she looked until the lands flattened to grass plains and shallow dips in the ground.

And Clarke thought those lands just a little less daunting, just a little less eager to take death when it could. And she thought that perhaps it would prolong her suffering, it would let her walk and stumble and crawl her way forward until she could no longer do so.

Clarke looked behind her once more, she let her eyes take in the forest, she let her mind remember what little happy moments she had had since falling to the ground, and she tried to recall the softest of glances, the barest brushes of a hand and shared closenesses that had made her forget, just for a little while, what her life had become.

“Goodbye,” Clarke said, and she let her voice break past her lips in all its ragged glory. “May we meet again.”

And so Clarke turned to the open plains and she took a broken step forward.

And she tripped on a rock, on a root, on an uneven piece of ground, or she simply fell because she was weak, because her body didn’t quite know how to function any longer.

And she fell. 

She fell, and she tumbled and she crashed down the side of whatever wretched ridgeline she had decided to walk along.

Her head slammed into the ground, and she knew she split her flesh open, she knew she broke skin, tore her clothes and bloodied her face.

Clarke tumbled and tumbled and rolled as her body hit stone, large and small, root deep and wide, and she cried out in shock, she cried out in pain and she cried out in fear and regret and hurt as her body shook to every broken memory that seemed to fill her mind.

And she came to a ragged halt at the bottom of the ridgeline, her vision dazed, her head throbbing and her body broken and bleeding as she tried to clear her mind, as she tried to recognise the pain and the acceptance of what she thought was to happen to her now.

And perhaps she would have laughed if her mouth didn’t feel so numb, perhaps she would have found it funny if her mind wasn’t so tired, but she was sure she heard shouting, she was sure she heard a voice calling out to her and she was sure she heard the scampering of feet as they came to a skittering halt somewhere close by.

And so the last thing Clarke found herself seeing before she lost consciousness was a girl’s face that came to peer down at her, whose face was round, freckled, sun kissed, full of youth with eyes wide in worry.


	7. Chapter 7

Clarke’s head throbbed and ached long before her mind fully realised she was awake. It wasn’t until her eyes opened that she realised it was dark, that she still lay at the bottom of whatever ridgeline she had fallen down and that more time had passed than she could understand.

Clarke found herself lying on her back, her body aching, the rocks and stone and dirt underneath her doing little to help soften the harshness of the ground. She saw stars shining overhead, she saw clouds drift by and she saw the moon as it shone silently down upon the lands around her.

And so Clarke winced just a little as memories began to return slowly, and she remembered taking a step forward, she remembered tripping, stumbling and falling down. She remembered slamming into the ground over and over and over again, and she remembered hearing the faintest cries, she distant shouts, and she remembered coming to a stop, her mind hazy, and she remembered a girl who had rushed to her side, and she remembered the way fearful eyes had looked down at her just before she had lost consciousness.

Clarke forced herself to sit, her arm protesting the motion as she pushed off from the ground, and it surprised her to find that her other arm remained bandaged, that a sling held it to her chest and that her forehead felt thick, felt solid and dampened by something foreign.

She brought tentative fingers to her forehead, and it took her a moment to realise a spiced paste seemed to be smeared to her skin, to whatever gash she felt burning through her head caused by her fall.

And the girl must have been the one to bandage her arm, the girl must have been the one who had applied the paste to her wounds and had lit the fire Clarke only just realised burned and crackled by her side.

And so Clarke looked around herself in the dark, her eyes trying to find the girl, trying to find sign of where she had gone, why she had helped. But all Clarke found was a small pack that lay on the other side of the fire, its contents emptied and spilled out onto a rough fur that lay on the ground.

Clarke’s gaze fell to the contents on the roughened red fur and she blinked back the headache as she saw messily wrapped bandages that were rolled into tight rolls, small jars filled with pastes, other jars whose contents she couldn’t identify and a number of other small trinkets and belongings. But Clarke couldn’t help but find her gaze drawn to the small stuffed toy that lay on its side. It’s stitching was frayed at the edges, its shape old, its body once an animal, a proud bear, perhaps a large cat or wolf, but has since been worn down to the barest hints of an animal from years of use.

Clarke rubbed at her eyes then, she blinked away the sleep and she tried to ignore the pain that seemed to take hold in her body as she sat more fully, as she looked out around herself. She wondered where that girl was, she wondered why she had been followed and she tried to sift through the events that had led to her falling and losing consciousness.

But her ears picked up the faint sounds of feet clipping against hard packed dirt and so Clarke winced as she looked out into the darkness, as she tried to find the source of the approaching sounds.

It only lasted a short moment longer but Clarke saw the dark shadow of a figure begin to approach in the distance, the light of the flames only just giving light to the person’s body as they moved closer and closer, a bundle of something in their arms.

And Clarke couldn’t quite tell if it was fear, if it was apprehension, worry or mistrust, but she felt an emotion tug at her mind, she felt a thought and a feeling claw at her insides and she thought of rising, she thought of trying to flee, of trying to stumble away blindly after so many days without contact with other people.

But yet she found herself rooted in place as she saw the dark figure step further and further into the light.

And the girl stood at the edges of the fire’s light, where shadow and flame danced together to send darkness swirling around them both. The girl’s muddy red hair was pulled back in a simple, messy braid, loose strands happy to cling to her forehead, her eyes guarded and careful as her nose scrunched up in thought, in contemplation and indecision. And as Clarke took her face in, she was sure the girl mustn’t be older than eight, seven perhaps, from the way her eyes remained wide in uncertainty, in the way her cheeks held onto a youthful roundness that didn’t seem ready to flee just yet.

And her clothes were loose, were too big and too large for her small body, but Clarke was sure that the dark leathers and furs did much to hold back the cold that seemed to claw more desperately to her at the start of each day.

In her arms lay a bundle of sticks, some large, some small, all broken into pieces to feed the fire, and Clarke watched for her own unsure moment as the girl shuffled where she stood, as she kicked at the ground and as she glanced up and down Clarke’s weary body.

“You are awake,” the girl said quietly, and her voice seemed timid, seemed unsure, gentle and careful on the wind.

And Clarke wasn’t so sure what to say, or perhaps even how to say whatever she would and should say.

And so she shrugged, she winced at the ache in her arm and she tried not to let her own apprehension show upon her face.

“What happened?” Clarke asked, and she knew her voice came out broken and ragged, her throat dry to the days without water.

“You fell,” and the girl gestured with her chin up the rise in the grounds, to the ridgeline that lay backed by the moon’s shining.

“And this,” and Clarke gestured to her bandaged arm and to her forehead. “Was it you?”

“Yes,” and the girl took a measured step forward before lowering herself to the ground with the fire between them as she lay the sticks before her. “You were hurt,” she said as she shuffled back a motion as she came to sit on the roughened fur.

“Thanks,” and perhaps the awkwardness of the situation would soon die, would soon lessen once Clarke’s thoughts fully settled.

“You needed help,” and the girl reached for her toy, her fingers quick to hold it tight as she worried her lip.

“Thanks,” Clarke said once more, and she found herself trying to look for a parent, an older sibling, something to give explanation for why the girl was alone in the dark. “Are you alone?” and perhaps settling for being straightforward couldn’t hurt.

But the girl took a moment to think, to consider her words, and Clarke wondered just what the girl would say as she saw her look to the small pack by her side, as she ran a hand over the rough furs and as she fumbled with the toy in her grasp.

“Yes,” and the words came out simple, but Clarke was sure she heard a fraying in the girl’s voice, in the way her words dipped at the end.

“No one knows where you are?” Clarke said, and she eyed the way the girl’s hand fell to a small dagger sheathed to her hip, to the way her fingers seemed to worry the leathers out of habit as she glanced around herself just once.

“No,” the girl answered, and Clarke wasn’t so sure how to respond to the revelation.

“Why?” Clarke asked, but from the messily arranged pack and its content, Clarke thought she could guess.

“The Mountain took my parents,” the girl answered. “The sky fire took my village,” and the girl paused for a moment, she took a steadying breath. “I have nothing left.”

And Clarke found herself blinking away the pains she felt beginning to take hold as the girl’s words found their way through her mind, and she knew it to be guilt at the things she had done, she knew it to be regret at the things she hadn’t been able to do, and she knew it to be anger and resentment and confusion and hurt.

And Clarke wondered whether this was simply another hallucination, she wondered if she had hit her head, if she actually lay face down in the dirt bleeding out, on the cusp of death and that all she saw, all she heard and felt in this moment was simply her mind trying to hold onto some small piece of comfort, however foreign, however selfish it was, simply so that she wouldn’t have to suffer alone at the end of her life.

“What village do you come from?” Clarke found her voice asking, and she thought she knew, she thought she could see it from the colours of the girl’s clothing, of the way her furs and leathers smudged together in blurs of greens and browns and blacks.

“Ton DC,” the girl replied quietly.

And at that Clarke found her lips quivering at the corners, she found her eyes blinking away the tears, and she tried not to let the guilt of letting the missile strike Ton DC consume her more than it already had.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, and now she knew her mind played tricks on her, now she knew it simply laughed in her face, was content to let her last moments end in suffering and guilt.

And Clarke felt dizziness begin to take hold, she felt pain begin to thump through her head and she felt her vision begin to blur as she felt herself begin to sway, begin to slip and fall.

And so she didn’t quite remember the impact of her body as she slumped over, as she lost consciousness from days of fatigue and worry and anguished thought.

But Clarke was sure that if she had recalled, if she had remembered, she would have wished to not wake, to not suffer for another day.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to dulled senses and a tempered ache through her skull, and as she let her eyes open to the sun she couldn’t help but to squint, to groan and to recoil from the harshness of the day.

It only took her a moment for memories to return of the previous night, of the girl who had sat before her, who had cared for her, had bandaged and applied paste to her wounds. And so Clarke forced herself to sit in the cold and she blinked back the sleep that clung to her eyes as she found herself still sitting by the small fire.

That same small fire from the night still burned in place, its flames licking at the charred wood that kept its flame alive, but Clarke’s gaze fell to the girl who sat at the fire, her eyes looking up to meet Clarke’s.

The girl sat on her fur, a small pot placed over the flames bubbling quietly as the girl used a ladle to stir and poke at the contents that cooked over the heat.

“You are awake,” the girl said, and Clarke found the girl’s voice quiet, a little unsure and careful, still.

And Clarke didn’t know what else to say, what else to do other than to watch quietly, awkwardly, as the girl continued to stir for long moments, the breeze of the wind the only thing to interrupt their shared silence.

Clarke found herself wondering just why the girl was alone, though, and she thought of the things the girl had said, of how she had no parents left, of how she had lived in Ton DC, of the missile, and perhaps Clarke thought she could understand and sympathise with the girl, with her actions. For surely the girl had left, had decided to abandon all she had known for the same reason’s Clarke had done so.

But yet, Clarke found herself wanting to ask, if only for reassurances, if only so that she could know that others felt the same, felt the helplessness, or some other shared sense of loss.

But perhaps Clarke didn’t think their experience so similar.

If only because she knew the girl hadn’t killed, hadn’t murdered.

“What’s your name?” Clarke asked, and she winced at the sound she heard as her voice frayed.

The girl looked up then, her eyes careful as she took in the question, as she pondered and contemplated.

“Jessa,” she said as she lifted the ladle to her lips and tasted whatever she had been cooking.

“Clarke,” she offered, but from the way the girl’s eyes held firm, Clarke was sure the girl already knew.

And so Clarke found herself content to fall silent then, and the girl seemed content to let the silence settle too. And so Clarke watched as Jessa scrunched her nose to the taste, as she winced a little at the heat and as she turned and began to rummage in her small pack.

And Clarke found it just a little saddening to realise that Jessa seemed comfortable to wander the lands and forests alone, seemed capable of fending for herself, of providing basic medical care when needed and for cooking, hunting or foraging when required.

And Clarke found it sad because she thought the girl too old and lived for the youth that clung to her cheeks, that shone in her quiet gaze.

“How long have you been by yourself?” Clarke asked after a while.

Jessa looked up at her words, and Clarke saw the girl think for a moment, she saw her recall moments and days and weeks as she tried to count back the nights she must have spent by herself.

“Since you left,” Jessa said simply.

“Since I left?” Clarke said, and she grimaced a little as she shifted where she sat in search of comfort.

“Yes,” and Jessa paused, she let the ladle find a resting place on a flat stone near the fire and she took a measured motion backwards as she came to sit fully on her fur as one hand fell to the small knife on her hip, the other coming to close around her small stuffed toy.

“You’ve been following me?” Clarke asked, and she tried to recall the days she had spent alone in the forest.

“Yes,” and Jessa’s gaze hardened a little, but despite the motions the girl made, despite the hardening of her eyes, Clarke was sure she saw a vulnerability living in the subtleness of the green that flashed in them.

“Why?” Clarke asked, and she wasn’t so sure what she felt, she wasn’t sure if she felt annoyance, surprise, curiosity, bewilderment, or a mixture of any one of those emotions.

Jessa looked away then, and Clarke saw her fingers relax around the knife’s hilt.

“I heard you,” and Jessa looked back to Clarke. “I heard you talking to yourself,” and Jessa worried her lip.

And Clarke thought it funny that her broken mind had brought someone to her, had let someone follow, track and observe.

“When I woke up by the river, that was you, wasn’t it?” and Clarke found herself thinking of the animal that had woken her, that had tried to hunt and had run into the underbrush at the first signs of her waking.

“Yes,” Jessa said cautiously as she brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself in the chill of the day.

“And the roots? The ones that were dug up, that were safe to eat?” but Clarke knew the answer.

“Yes,” Jessa said once more.

Clarke wondered then, just why the girl had decided to follow, why she had decided to shadow her steps, why she had watched and listened. And perhaps Clarke should have felt it as a betrayal of whatever small sliver of privacy she should have had left. And perhaps it was a betrayal that Jessa had listened to every conversation she had had with her ghosts, with her demons and her lost memories.

But as Clarke took in the way the girl picked at a clump of dried fur that covered her legs, and as she took in the way the girl held onto her toy tightly, Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to feel the emotions she should have.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Clarke asked carefully, and she watched as Jessa chewed her lip again, she watched as Jessa’s nose scrunched up in thought.

“You have your demons,” Jessa whispered, and Clarke couldn’t help but to find herself looking away, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest shimmerings of hurt begin to rise once more. “I have mine, too,” and Jessa blinked wetly.

And perhaps Jessa had followed Clarke simply because she knew others suffered as much as herself. And perhaps Clarke couldn’t blame the girl for wanting to know that others suffered, too, that others felt the same pains, the same anguishes and regrets.

“Were you ever going to show yourself?” Clarke found herself asking, and she didn’t quite know why she didn’t feel the anger at knowing she had been followed and shadowed for what she thought must have been weeks.

“I do not know,” Jessa said, and Clarke saw the girl shrug lightly as she reached out and stirred at the pot for a moment. “Food?” she asked then, and Clarke took in the way Jessa bit her lip once more, the way she eyed the small pot and the broth she stirred lightly.

“Did you steal these things?” Clarke asked, and she took in the blackened pot in all its beaten use, and the ladle and the small pack that held whatever Jessa had left.

“I took them from Ton DC,” Jessa answered, and Clarke watched as the girl’s chin lifted.

“I see,” and Clarke grimaced just a little as she found her mouth twitching at the corners as a smile split a cut through her lip.

But Clarke felt her stomach growl, she heard it rumble and she saw Jessa’s gaze flick down briefly before coming to eye the pot once more.

“I could eat,” and Clarke wondered how long it had been since she had eaten, how long it had been since she had had something to quench her burning thirst.

Clarke tried to keep her hands from shaking too obviously as Jessa filled the smallest of bowls with the warm broth and passed it to her with a caution and a worry.

And so Clarke let the silence settle around them as they both turned their attentions to the smallest of shared meals held between dirtied and cold hands.

 

* * *

 

Clarke tipped the last of the odd tasting soup past her lips with a groan and an ache, but as she pulled the small bowl away she found Jessa eyeing her cautiously, the girl’s eyes moving across her face as she tried to see whatever it was that she searched for.

“What?” Clarke said.

“Where are you going?” Jessa said, and Clarke saw the girl worry her lip once more.

And that question threw Clarke for a moment. If only because she knew she didn’t plan to go anywhere. And if she was honest with herself, she was sure she had planned to simply walk until her feet could no longer do so, she was sure she would have walked for as long as she could until her demons and her past were nothing but the faintest of memories.

And perhaps Clarke had planned to walk until she couldn’t think of living through her actions over the ache and the burn and the piercing pain of her blistered feet.

“I don’t now,” Clarke said eventually, and she saw Jessa nod at her words, she saw the girl eye her pack and she saw the girl look up into the skies.

But as Clarke watched, she thought she knew what the girl wanted, she thought she knew what the girl wanted to ask.

“I don’t plan to go anywhere,” Clarke said more harshly than she intended, but she didn’t think Jessa took heed of the bite in her words as the girl simply shrugged.

“Can I come?” and the question didn’t surprise Clarke.

“Why?” Clarke asked, and she wondered what the girl saw in her, she wondered why the girl wished to follow the rambling shell of a person she had become.

“I do not want to be alone anymore,” Jessa said, and her words came simple, they came fact, honest upon her tongue.

And at that Clarke let herself think for just a moment.

And she thought of what her life had become. She thought of her time in solitary confinement on the Ark, she thought of when she had come down to the ground, of the death she had seen, of those she had killed, of the friends she had let die, and to those she had killed with little more effort than it took to move a lever from one position to another.

And she couldn’t help but feel revulsion at the fact that she had been capable of killing so many, and she knew she felt disgust at the fact that given another chance she would do the same, that she knew she would. If only to save her own people.

But perhaps that was why she had left.

Perhaps she had left to flee from anyone she could call her people.

She had left to hide from the truth. She had run to hide from her people. She had fled to hide from whatever futures lay in wait for her.

“I can cook,” Jessa said, and Clarke was sure Jessa must have seen the indecision, she was sure the girl must have seen the uncertainty, the caution and the refusal she was sure was building in her own mind. “I can hunt,” Jessa pushed. “I can help you survive, I can help us both survive. We can live on the ground,” Jessa said. “There are beasts that roam these lands. They will attack if we are not careful,” and Jessa moved just a little closer. “I have already scared some away,” and Clarke couldn’t help but feel saddened at the words Jessa continued to say, continued to voice, if only because she thought no girl her age should have had to ever worry about how to survive, about how to hunt and to kill and to live in isolation.

And Clarke startled just a little when she realised Jessa had ceased to talk, had ceased to utter other words as Clarke remained quiet.

But Clarke saw the girl clench her jaw. Clarke saw her blink back roughly and she saw the girl squeeze just a little more tightly on the toy held in her tight grasp.

“I have nothing left,” Jessa echoed from earlier. “I took everything I had,” and Clarke watched as she gestured to the pack and her belongings spilled out onto the furs. “My home was destroyed by the sky fire. The Mountain took my parents,” and Jessa blinked back wetly, and Clarke was sure she saw the girl’s lips tremble just a little despite the iron in her gaze. “Reapers killed my first,” and Jessa’s fingers trembled as she held onto her toy. “I have nothing left,” and she looked away again. “I have nothing left,” Jessa finished, and Clarke saw the girl try to maintain her facade, try to maintain whatever had been drilled into her since she was old enough to hold a knife.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Clarke said, and she made sure she held Jessa’s gaze, she made sure the girl understood her, understood the actions, however foolish they may be, that she planned to take.

“That is good enough for me,” Jessa said.

And so Clarke brought a hand to her face and rubbed back the tears she only just noticed falling from her own eyes as she settled her breathing and tried to iron her heart’s beating.

“Ok.”


	8. Chapter 8

Awkwardness sat heavy upon Clarke’s shoulders. Each step she took seemed to only add to the dull thump of her feet against the hard packed dirt, each crunch of her dirtied boot seemed to only add to the aimlessness of her worries as she continued to move forward.

And she didn’t quite think Jessa understood why exactly she had decided to walk away from Camp Jaha. And she wasn’t so sure the girl had really considered what she had intended to do and what she had resigned herself to face.

And so Clarke glanced to Jessa who trudged along by her side, the girl’s thumbs hooked into the straps of her pack as she continued to keep pace with Clarke’s broken steps.

Clarke was sure she sensed a contentedness in the girl, though. She was sure the girl seemed happy, seemed pleased that she walked beside another. If only because Jessa must have spent days alone as she followed quietly and carefully, always afraid of revealing herself.

Perhaps, though, Clarke thought herself irresponsible in her acceptance of Jessa’s request. If only because she didn’t think she was capable to keeping even herself safe.

But yet,

Having another to share in her lonely misery couldn’t hurt.

And so Clarke looked up into the sky, she let the aching of her legs continue to take place in the corners of her mind and she tried to think of something to say, something to voice that could break the awkward silence that she thought only in her mind.

“We aren’t in Trikru lands, anymore. Are we?” Clarke asked, and she found herself gesturing with her uninjured arm, her gaze taking in the sweeping lands that seemed to exist in front of her, that held only the faintest hints of trees huddled together in the distance.

“No,” Jessa said as she glanced over her shoulder and back the way they had been walking for the last tiring age. “We crossed into the Plains Riders’ lands,” and Jessa scrunched her face up in thought as she took a moment to think of thoughts and memories.

“I see,” and Clarke worried her lip only to wince as it split open once more.

Clarke turned her attention to her shoulder though, and she wondered just how badly she had hurt it in the fall, and she wondered just how long her pains and aches would last. She gave it a cautious shrug, just a little movement, but she winced and grimaced and grunted out a curse as pain shot through her shoulder and up the side of her neck.

Jessa must have heard her because Clarke was sure she felt the girl’s eyes peering at her with a curiosity and a worry that seemed a little too easily given.

“I tried to fix it,” Jessa said and Clarke looked to the girl to see her worry her lip, nose scrunched up in thought and her single messy braid of hair flapping in the breeze.

“It’s ok,” Clarke answered, and she didn’t quite know what else to say.

If only because she knew modern medical help wasn’t something she could rely on anymore.

At least not more than the knowledge she already had.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Clarke asked as she gestured to her shoulder and up to her forehead, the paste already beginning to dry and peel from where Jessa had applied it.

“Everyone must know how to heal,” Jessa said as she turned her attention back to whichever direction they both walked.

And Clarke thought that revelation just a little sad, too. And she did so because she wondered what life must have been like on the ground, what sufferings all must have faced through their lives.

And perhaps she felt guilt at the thought that her people had survived in space, had lived and thought themselves the last of their people, had thought that they had lived in the harshest of environments.

“I was training to be a healer,” Clarke found herself saying, and she thought of the times she had watched her mother work, of the times she had helped set broken bones, helped stitch cuts, large and small, and had even administered the smallest amounts of approved medicines for only the most serious of cases lest medicine be wasted, be exhausted.

Jessa hummed a response at that, and Clarke glanced at the girl to see her kick at a pebble, and she watched as it rolled and bounced and came to a skittering stop across the dirt and cold chilled grass.

“I was training to be a warrior,” and Jessa’s hand fell to the knife by her hip, and Clarke thought the motion unconscious, unthought and familiar.

But Clarke, too, found it sad, she found it sad because she couldn’t help but notice Jessa’s small toy tucked into her belt, its place sitting familiar against her hip, its closeness to the knife a juxtaposition and a contrast of youth and survival that seemed sad to Clarke.

“Do you have friends?” Clarke asked, and she didn’t quite know whether she touched upon a sensitive subject, and she didn’t know whether she should mention Ton DC, whether she should mention its bombing, its destruction. And she didn’t know whether she avoided those things for Jessa, or for herself.

“Yes,” Jessa answered as she looked up to meet Clarke’s gaze. “But not anymore,” and perhaps from the way Jessa’s eyes hardened, and from the way her fingers found their place upon her toy, Clarke knew.

“I’m sorry,” but perhaps her words seemed hollow, perhaps they seemed too little, too late.

And perhaps she found it just a little pathetic that she couldn’t quite seem to understand anymore. And she couldn’t understand the pains and the guilt because she thought them a constant now. And she thought them something to live with, to accept, to learn to hold onto until she breathed her last breath.

And wasn’t that what her demons had made her face and realise?

But perhaps she wasn’t so sure.

“It was not your fault,” Jessa said simply, and Clarke found herself looking away from the girl and out to the horizon, to the hazed mountains in the furthest of distances. “The Mountain was evil,” and Jessa shrugged a little too forcefully for Clarke to think of it as little more than a mask for the pain. “But you killed it.”

“Yeah,” and Clarke let thoughts of what she had done filter through her mind again, she let them wend through her memories and take hold.

But this time, at least for just a moment, she thought them not so confronting as they once were.

But only just a little.

 

* * *

 

The night was cold by the time Clarke and Jessa found respite under the cover of a lonely huddle of trees. The stars had already taken their place in the skies and the clouds seemed to chase after the sun as the last of its rays dipped below the horizon.

Clarke found herself on the ground, her legs kicked out before her as she leant back against a tree, its bark hard enough to bite in her flesh. Jessa sat awkwardly by her side, too, the girl seemingly unsure of what to do now that they found themselves resting.

“I only have one fur,” Jessa said as she began to rummage in her pack for the rough fur, and Clarke let herself take in the way Jessa moved trinket after trinket aside, little things of wood and stone and metal, some ornamental, some whose uses Clarke could only just grasp and others still whose use slipped her mind. “I do not know if it will be big enough for us,” and Jessa looked up and held the fur up in front of her, eyes squinting, and Clarke was sure the girl tried to juggle, tried to rearrange their bodies into positions that could share in the fur’s warmth for the night.

“It’s ok,” Clarke said in answer to Jessa’s worries. “You take it.”

And so Jessa met her gaze for a lonely moment before nodding and setting the fur down onto the ground as she wrapped small arms around herself and began to lose her thoughts to the emptiness of sleep.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t sure how long sleep eluded her. She wasn’t sure how long she spent leant against the tree, she wasn’t sure how long she spent looking up into the stars, looking for whatever was left of the Ark, whatever was left of a life she longed for.

And it saddened her to think that Jessa looked to her for some kind of salvation. For Clarke didn’t know if she could give it, she didn’t know whether she let the girl follow in some desperate and selfish search for her own release.

But it also surprised Clarke when she realised that she hadn’t quite thought of much more than a numbed sense of loss for the last day. Each step she took seemingly lessening the raw pain as she continued to step further and further and further from her worries, from her friends, from those she loved and the memories she didn’t know whether she cherished or despised.

And she thought Jessa had slowly taken a place in her mind. But to what extent was hard to find. Clarke thought of the girl, she thought of what she must have faced in her short life, and she thought of how the girl must have put her hopes into her, however misplaced they were.

But yet, Clarke thought that just maybe, that was what she needed. Perhaps she needed something else to take her mind away, to steal her worries, to focus her actions upon.

And it was odd, too.

For Clarke knew if she were to accept whatever foolish responsibility she was to accept in the care of Jessa, she knew she wouldn’t be able to abandon the girl. Not if she wanted to learn to grow past whatever she had lived through in her life.

And so Clarke found herself rising to her feet carefully, eyes glancing just once to Jessa’s small body as the girl shivered just a little in the cold under her fur.

But then Clarke began to move away in the dark, each step taking her closer and closer to her demons as she followed whatever ghost seemed to linger in the corners of her mind.

And she wondered just who it was this time, she wondered just who would be the one to laugh in her face, to burn before her vision and to bring forth memories of pain and anguish and hate.

But she knew she sensed the presence by her side as she moved from shadowed darkness to pooling moonlight.

And then Clarke found herself standing in the open, the huddle of trees to her back as she turned her face to the moon and let her demon take hold somewhere by her side.

And Clarke should have known.

She should have guessed from the way the presence had walked too close, had seemed to know when to step, where to step so that they never seemed to stray too far from her touch.

And perhaps Clarke should have felt anger, should have felt hate and fury.

But she knew those emotions would only be directed at herself, and not at the woman who had torn her mind to pieces.

“I hate you,” Clarke said, and she let her voice only just catch on the wind lest she wake Jessa who slumbered close by.

Clarke waited for a response, she sensed the person begin to bleed out from the darkness before her and she tried not to look, she tried not to let it solidify into whoever she thought it to be.

“Why?” the voice asked quietly and Clarke blinked back the tears, she blinked back the pain and the hurt and the betrayal.

“You know why,” Clarke answered, and she found herself refusing to acknowledge who it was that stood in front of her.

Clarke didn’t know what she expected, she didn’t even quite understand why it was that she allowed for her mind to let this demon in particular live so freely. But it did, and Clarke found herself following the faintest wisps of a cloud that hung in the night’s sky as she felt the presence sit on the hard packed dirt.

“What will you do now, Clarke?” came the question, and Clarke wondered just what she would do now that it seemed as though Jessa would accompany wherever she found herself.

“I don’t know,” and Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to face whatever angers she thought should have surfaced at the sound of the voice she heard. “Something,” she finished, and she couldn’t help but to wonder what lay in wait for her.

But Clarke also found herself feeling a sense of eagerness begin to rise from within, she found it slowly and surely taking hold of every little fibre in her body, of every thought and worry and anguish that seemed to exist.

And she thought the eagerness taking hold to be for a future where she didn’t know what awaited her. Where she didn’t think she would be faced with decisions of who lived and who died. Where she didn’t think her actions would be judged by any other than mother nature, than the wind and the trees and the animals that would skitter and hide as she passed.

“You’re my past,” and Clarke pulled her gaze from the skies and she forced herself to eye the woman who sat on the ground in front of her. “Whatever happened, happened,” and Clarke found herself meeting the shimmerings of a green gaze that didn’t seem to judge, that didn’t seem to hold contempt, anger, pain or even blame. “I can’t change the things I’ve done,” and Clarke shook her head just once. “I can’t change the things you made me do,” and Clarke thought of just what she would say if she were to ever meet _her_ again. “I blamed you at first,” and Clarke let herself feel the lever under her palm, she let her memories take her back to times not so kind. “I blamed myself, too,” and Clarke winced through the recollections. “I blamed others, even,” and Clarke took in a breath. “But when it comes down to it, everyone was at fault, no one was willing to change, to work together,” and Clarke blinked for a moment as she tried to make sense of her ramblings. “I don’t even know what I’m saying,” and she saw the person nod slowly. “I did what I did to survive. I killed to survive,” and Clarke tried to smile for the happier times. “And maybe I’d do it again if I had to,” and she was sure she would. “But I don’t want to have to ever again,” and she looked to the woman who brought forth memories she wasn’t sure were kind or unkind. “So to answer your questions,” and she shrugged despite the pain in her shoulder. “What will I do now? I’ll go some place where I don’t have to worry about anything other than waking in the morning. Than taking one step after another until I can’t anymore or until I’ve run so far from whatever I’ve done that no one remembers me,” and she shook her head again.

But Clarke found herself pausing for another moment, she found herself thinking of those conversations they had had in the tent, when they had been surrounded by the bustling of warriors, by the heat of burning candles and by the shared glances that seemed to have been filled with more than worry, with more than curiosity.

“You were wrong,” Clarke continued. “I’m not the person my people would pour their hopes and dreams into. I wasn’t born for leading people into battle, I wasn’t born to make decisions that would dictate the lives of others. We aren’t the same,” and Clarke made herself recall shared conversations spoken in the quiet of the night. “That’s where you were wrong,” and Clarke nodded to herself. “You had your whole life to prepare for the decision you made at the Mountain,” and Clarke looked away briefly as she tried to think of how to say what she wanted to say. “I didn’t,” and Clarke bit her lip. “And you made that decision for me and then you turned your back on me. On my people,” and Clarke saw the woman’s head tilt to the side ever so slightly as her words seemed to be heard. “On us,” Clarke added more quietly.

“She did what was best for her people,” the woman said, and Clarke found it odd that the voice now spoke of her in such a way. But perhaps it wasn’t so odd. And perhaps it wasn’t so odd because that one person didn’t sit before her, and would probably never sit before her, would never lay eyes upon her again.

“She did,” and Clarke wondered if she really believed that. Or if she simply agreed because she was tired of fighting, she was tired of confrontation. “So I’m doing what is best for my people,” and Clarke nodded to herself again, and she knew walking away would mean that her people would have the chance to survive without her shadow of death lingering over their shoulders.

“I think she would be sorry for her actions,” the voice said, and at that Clarke couldn’t help but to laugh, for she knew now that her mind had decided to not try to trick her anymore, if only because she was sure _she_ would never apologise for the actions taken, the decisions made.

“That’s wishful thinking,” Clarke countered quietly.

“Yes,” and Clarke heard the littlest of laughs break the end of the answer. “It is,” but there was a pause, too, “but it is your wishful thinking.”

And so the presence came to stand in front of Clarke, and perhaps for some selfish reason Clarke let herself really take in the vision that stood before her.

And Clarke couldn’t be blamed for wishing things had happened differently. She couldn’t be blamed for wondering what life would have been like if the Mountain had ended differently, if unspoken promises hadn’t been broken, if deals hadn’t been accepted and futures hadn’t be stolen from her. And Clarke couldn’t be blamed for wishing things had been different for she was only human.

“Goodbye,” Clarke said, and she found her voice to come firmer than it had in days. “I hope I never see you again,” and she found herself blinking back tears that didn’t form, that didn’t blur her vision and that didn’t quite make her heart hurt as much as it had in days gone by.

And so Clarke turned her back on the image of Lexa, whose face was streaked in blood and dirt, whose warpaint had been smudged and blurred and messed beyond recognition.

And if Clarke really let herself recall just what she had seen that night, if Clarke really let herself remember the pain and the hurt and the loss she had felt, she would have also remembered the tear she thought she had imagined as it found its way through the blood upon Lexa’s face.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t sure if she imagined each step she took to be lighter than it had been in days, she wasn’t sure if she imagined a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but she didn’t quite care as she found her way back to the solitude of Jessa’s sleeping body.

Clarke sat down carefully, her mind a little less worried as she took in the way Jessa had wrapped herself in the roughened fur, in the way the girl clutched at its edges with small hands, and Clarke wondered just what the girl had seen in her short life.

But Clarke thought it didn’t quite matter why Jessa had decided to run, whether it was because she had lost everything, or whether she had felt lost and broken. And it didn’t matter because Clarke had done the same.

Clarke found an idea cementing in her mind, she found a thought taking place and a future taking shape. And Clarke found that without much thought, without much conscious decision, that she would take it upon herself to care for the girl, if only because she thought it would be good for herself. If only because she wanted to know what it was like to know her actions wouldn’t end in death, in suffering.

And maybe she would fail, maybe she would find that she was only good at causing pain. But wasn’t trying worth it? And it must have been. Trying to care for another must be worth the risks and the effort and the pain of whatever anguishes could come to be.

And so Clarke blinked back the surprise as she found her hand settling upon Jessa’s head in comfort as the girl whimpered in her sleep, as she grimaced as nightmares took hold and as she began to twitch to the demons that flooded thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Nights broke into days and days faded into nights, and with each step forward Clarke found herself feeling less and less like who she once was and more like a shadow of someone to come. But she didn’t quite mind that she found herself losing track of what her life had once been.

And she didn’t mind because she found that she enjoyed Jessa’s company. Clarke enjoyed the way the girl would talk for hours on end, and Clarke found that it helped her forget, or at least push away the memories she shouldn’t ever forget, and she found those spaces in her mind being occupied by stories that Jessa would recall, and they were stories of the Coalition, of the clans, of Trikru, of how they had warred with Azgeda for generations until a Commander whose eyes flashed green had wrestled the bloodiest of clans under her control, and Clarke smiled at the stories of the Lake clan, whose waters were as pristine and as cold as the emptiness of space, and Clarke found herself awed at the stories of Glowing Forest, whose forests, much like their clan name would suggest, glowed in the depths of the night, in the darkest of the days.

And Clarke found herself awed at the tales of Azgeda, if only because she couldn’t be blamed for wondering what it must be like to live in such harsh environments where only the hardiest of man, woman and child and beast could survive.

But perhaps the stories that made Clarke’s heart beat the fastest were those of the Plains Riders, whose deeds upon horse were apparently common knowledge to every person born to the ground, whose skills as archers upon horseback were renowned and whose plains, Clarke now walked, stretched for as far as the eye could see until they were replaced by the rising of mountains in the greatest of distances.

And perhaps all those stories Jessa let free took place within Clarke’s mind, and she couldn’t be blamed for thinking her younger self foolish, of thinking of the Earth as untamed, wild and free for the taking.

But really, who could blame her?

 

* * *

 

Clarke grimaced at the ache in her shoulder, but she ignored the pains and she smiled lightly as Jessa whispered a quiet sorry as the girl unwrapped her shoulder carefully.

Clarke knew her arm had been injured more severely than she had realised after a week had passed and she still hadn’t regained full control over it, and she wondered whether she had torn a tendon, a ligament or pulled a muscle, but she took her pains in stride and she let her eyes follow the way Jessa frowned and eyed her upper arm.

“Thanks,” Clarke said and she watched as Jessa dipped her head lightly before sitting back towards the heat of the flame.

“Does it still hurt?” Jessa asked.

“No,” and Clarke shrugged, her shoulder perhaps more stiff than pained. “Not really,” she added as a deeper frown took its place across Jessa’s face.

And so Jessa huffed a little, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel a smile tug at her lips as the girl placed her hand son her hips and stood in front of Clarke, her shadow darkening the space between them both.

“You should not lie,” Jessa said but Clarke heard the tease in the girl’s voice.

“Who says I’m lying?” Clarke countered only for Jessa to roll her eyes.

“I do,” and Clarke rolled her own eyes in answer as Jessa merely flapped her arms up and down. “Do that.”

And so Clarke took only a moment to consider just how much pain she’d feel if she copied the girls motions, but she knew the time she took thinking was all Jessa needed.

“I know it hurts.”

“Maybe a little,” Clarke said, and she saw the worry begin to take hold upon the girl’s face. “But don’t worry, Jessa,” Clarke continued. “These things take time to heal. I just need to let it get stronger with use, ok?”

“But it has been a long time,” Jessa said, and Clarke couldn’t quite fight back the faintest twinge of guilt gnaw at her as she saw the girl’s worry deepen.

“Don’t worry,” and Clarke smiled as she came to kneel before the girl, her hands coming to rest on Jessa’s shoulders as she held her gaze. “All it will take is time,” and Clarke squeezed her shoulders a little before coming to stand as she sniffed at her clothes. “Now come,” and Clarke jerked her chin towards the flowing river.

And so Clarke couldn’t help but laugh just a little as Jessa grimaced and Clarke was sure the girl imagined just how cold the water would be once they let it scrub away at their dirtied bodies.

 

* * *

 

True to her imagination, the water was cold and stole her breath with each splash across her body. But still, Clarke knew enough that it was wise to keep them both as clean as possible in their aimless travels, and so she grimaced as she dipped her face into the flowing water and ran her fingers through her hair as she pulled at the knots and twisted clumps.

She heard Jessa’s shouts of joy though, and she looked up to see the girl splashing out in the centre of the river, its current not so strong as to pull her away, but strong enough to cause her to spin in aimless circles as she floated on her back.

And Clarke had worried the first time she had seen Jessa splash into the first body of water they had found, if only because she knew animals lurked in their depths, but Jessa had seemed to know when lakes and rivers had been safe, and which hadn’t, and so Clarke had found herself looking out to the girl longingly, if only because she couldn’t swim and she had wondered what it must have felt like.

Jessa had even offered to teach her to swim, but Clarke couldn’t be blamed for not jumping at the offer, if only because she knew if things didn’t quite go as planned, Jessa wouldn’t be able to offer any aid.

And so Clarke flipped her hair over her shoulder raked a coarse stone across her flesh as she continued to scrape away the days of dirt and filth that had coated her body.

Clarke found herself looking at her reflection though, and she let her body pause in its motions and she waited for the ripples to die as she took in the face that looked back.

And she thought it familiar, she knew she recognised the eyes that looked back, but at the same time she thought the face more aged than she could remember. She thought the roundness of her face no longer so obvious, and she thought her cheeks just a little more pronounced from the days she had spent alone.

But what really took her attention were the depths of the eyes that looked back, and she wondered if those she had once known would recognise her, would understand the things that seemed to drift through her vision when she wasn’t quite awake and when she hadn’t quite found sleep.

Even the wound upon her forehead that Jessa had tried to keep clean seemed to laugh in her face. And the scar followed her hairline from her temple down to her left ear before it dipped through the end of her eyebrow in a jagged _V_ that was still raw, reddened at the edges and still ached just a little too much for comfort.

But Clarke embraced the blemish to her face just as much as she embraced the pain in her shoulder and the memories she still felt burning in the corners of her mind.

But for now she had other matters to attend to, and so Clarke rose carefully from where she had let the water cover her body, she shivered in the cold as her naked flesh met chilled air and she called out to Jessa who continued to float just out of reach.

And Clarke knew that she could lose herself to the motions of re-braiding the girl’s wild hair.

 

* * *

 

The fire crackled in the night and Clarke let her eyes follow each motion Jessa made with her small knife as she sliced through what Clarke assumed to be a snake or a lizard that had mutated to the radiation. It’s scales were reddened at their edges, black at the roots and Clarke couldn’t help but grimace just a little as Jessa snapped a bone as she continued to gut the dying animal in preparation for their meal.

And despite the gruesome nature of Jessa’s motions, Clarke was impressed that the girl seemed to take every new situation in stride, seemed to be able to adapt and to learn from her life the ground with little effort. And Clarke wasn’t so proud as to deny that without Jessa, she’d have died days ago, perhaps even weeks ago.

She continued to take in Jessa’s instructions and she tried to commit them to memory for the time when she would have to one day do them herself, but she also found herself looking out over the lands as they stretched out below her.

And Clarke and Jessa found themselves hidden between large rocks atop a plateau of sorts, the rocky outcrop helping to shield them from the piercing wind as it swept over the plains.

The fire flickered shadows across the rocks, too, each little pool of darkness dancing with the wind and the flame and Clarke thought it peaceful, she thought it enough to keep her mind at ease, and she even thought that moments like this weren’t so bad. If only because she could share in another’s company without worry of tomorrows, or at least those worries weren’t more worrisome than simply deciding which way to walk.

Clarke let her eyes take in the winding of that river in the farthest distances, whose surface reflect the stars and the moonlight, and she thought it a snake, she thought it a serpent that cut its way through the swaths of grassy plains.

And Clarke thought she could do this forever.

She thought she could live like this until she grew old, until her life was happy to no longer live.

And so she smiled as she turned her attention back to Jessa who held out a slice of the animal she had gutted, whose flesh was now charred, perhaps a little too well cooked for Clarke’s liking, but food nonetheless.

“Thanks,” Clarke smiled as she took it from the girl and sniffed at it for a moment.

And Clarke couldn’t stop the laugh that ripped from her lips as Jessa spat out her own piece of meat and gagged at its tough, charcoaled flesh.

“You should eat it,” Clarke found herself saying, and perhaps if she let her words linger within her mind a little longer, she would have found the tone familiar, she would have found it not dissimilar to the times when she had lived on the Ark, when she had sat at the dinner table with her father and mother, when they had told her to eat the rations the Ark had supplied for all those who lived within its confines.

But she didn’t let herself think too long, if only because Jessa retorted with what Clarke assumed to be a curse and a scrunching of her nose before forcing another piece of food past her lips.

And so the life Clarke found herself living?

It was easy.

It was simple.

But all good things must come to an end eventually.


	9. Chapter 9

It was cold and quiet, and the wind seemed to breathe through the rocky outcrop with more of a cold embrace than a buffeting bite.

But Clarke felt her body shiver just a little, she felt her skin prickle to the chill and she tried to let her thoughts drift back into the sleep she had been living.

But she heard the faintest of whimpers, she heard the barest echo of discomfort and so Clarke’s eyes opened to the dark of the night and the barely alive glow of the burning stone and charcoaled sticks and ashes that were once a fire.

Clarke sat and her gaze fell to Jessa who lay close by, the girl’s arms wrapped around herself, her face scrunching and twitching in sleep.

And Clarke knew the demons that Jessa lived with had once more come to visit, had once more returned to leave her stranded in her sleep and so Clarke didn’t quite mind the disturbance to her own sleep as she shuffled over to the sleeping girl.

Clarke had wondered what tormented the girl, but she had never quite asked, she had never felt it appropriate to pry, to assume she could do so. But perhaps she was happy to settle for a shared acknowledgement that both of them had their own demons, that they both had their own pains and fears.

And so Clarke let her fingers brush against Jessa’s hair softly, she let her body lay down beside the girl and she pulled the furs over them both as she whispered quiet words out to her.

Clarke felt the smile pull at the corners of her lips as Jessa’s whimpering lessened and quietened.

“It’s ok,” Clarke found herself saying, and she waited for a moment longer as Jessa settled slowly, as her breathing seemed to ease back into a happier rhythm and as the tension in her small body seemed to ebb bit by bit.

And this had become a nightly occurrence, Clarke would wake in the middle of the night to the quiet sounds of Jessa’s pain and she would move closer to the girl, she would find herself soothing her sleeping worries and she would try to ease the girl’s mind back into something less broken.

And Clarke didn’t mind. She didn’t mind because she found that it gave her own thoughts something else to ponder, something else to consider, something more than her own demons and guilts.

And so Clarke pulled Jessa closer in her sleep, she let her eyes close and she let the warmth of their bodies settle for however many hours of night were still to come.

 

* * *

 

The plains they walked across were vast, the grass that stretched out underfoot was short, its roots seemed almost red, as if the reddened soil and hard packed dirt tried to escape up each blade of grass. The tips of the grass bordered on a yellow though, and Clarke wondered whether it had been the sun’s bidding, whether the rays of light had bleached the grasses over the years.

And she found herself marvelling with each step, that each slight gust of wind seemed to lift the grass up as high as it could from its anchored point in the dirt and sway it and dance it and move it as it wished.

And not for the first time Clarke found herself glancing over her shoulder, her eyes squinting in the pale morning light as she tried to eye the horizon they had come and the forest swept mountains of Trikru lands that she had left behind.

But she turned back to Jessa who continued to chat away lightly from where she walked beside her, the girl’s night terrors a distant memory to her waking moments.

“What happened next?” Clarke found herself asking.

“Azgeda and Rock Line fought for a long time,” Jessa answered with a scowl. “Azgeda thought Rock Line was letting Lake clan move warriors through their lands so Azgeda attacked both,” and Clarke couldn’t help but shake her head just a little at the way wars and conflicts and turmoil had existed more fiercely even before the Coalition and the Mountain had truly been at war.

“And then what?” and Clarke couldn’t help but smile just a little as Jessa’s face scrunched up in thought and as she huffed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Then the Mountain attacked,” Jessa said, and Clarke didn’t miss the slight darkening of the girl’s tone.

“I see,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to think of how the Coalition must have formed, and she couldn’t help but to recall the thing she knew, the things she didn’t know and the people and the events that had unfolded while her own people had lived in space.

“What was it like?” Jessa said then, and Clarke looked to the girl to see her gaze carefully at her, eyes just a little guarded and curious as she lifted a finger upwards and into the sky. “Up there?” and Clarke wondered just how much Jessa knew, just how much the girl understood and could understand of what life had been like.

“It was different,” and Clarke took a moment to think of how best to explain. “It was always cold,” and she shrugged a little and she smiled as Jessa grimaced at that.

“Always cold?” and Jessa’s voice came curious now, came more unburdened.

“Yeah,” and Clarke let herself recall what it had been like when the temperature had always been just a few degrees too cold for her comfort, of how the temperature on the Ark was a carefully monitored affair. “We weren’t allowed to make fires,” Clarke continued and she thought that the easiest way to explain how things had been. “We didn’t have enough supplies, so it was always just a little too cold.”

And Jessa grimaced again, “I do not like the sound of that,” and Clarke laughed, and she couldn’t help but to agree with the girl.

“No,” Clarke said. “It wasn’t very nice.”

“But now we have fire,” and Jessa smiled and kicked at a small pebble in her way. “So we will not be cold,” and the girl lifted her pack higher onto her shoulders as she continued to walk beside Clarke.

And perhaps Clarke found it endearing that the girl seemed content to simply walk forward, to travel further and further each day with little worry about more than finding a comfortable place to sleep and enough food to keep them going for another few days.

And Clarke couldn’t blame her.

And she couldn’t because it was simple in its routine, it was easy in its familiarity and it was nice.

If only because she didn’t feel like she needed to justify her actions anymore.

 

* * *

 

Clarke groaned quietly as she stretched her legs out before her. And despite the contentedness of wandering she found herself experience, Clarke couldn’t quite shake the annoyance she felt at the aches in her legs and her feet. But even that, she thought, was welcomed, if only because it seemed to keep her thoughts distant.

And so she smiled as she met Jessa’s gaze as the girl sat before her, the pile of sticks already beginning to take the shape of a camp fire.

Jessa pulled her pack over her shoulder then and emptied its contents onto the ground as she began to rummage for whatever little spices they had, anything to make their meal just a little less bleak and plain than they really were.

And it hadn’t escaped Clarke’s mind that their supplies would run out eventually, that living off the ground would come to an end and that contact with other people would be needed to trade or to barter for whatever supplies they could afford.

“We are running low,” Jessa said as she held out her hand, a plain roasted root held out for Clarke to take.

“Yeah,” and Clarke took it with a sigh as she eyed its bitter tasting flesh.

But she didn’t quite mind so much, at least not too much for she had come to recognise which plants would have the roots that were edible, and she had come to lean just where those plants would gather in groups large enough for her to dig up enough to last them both days.

“I miss the trees,” Jessa said after a moment, and Clarke watched as Jessa looked out around them in the small rocky outcrop they had settled into for the night.

And Clarke didn’t blame Jessa for missing the trees.

And she thought it odd that after so many days and nights spent living in fear surrounded by trees that she would now miss them, just a little, but yet, perhaps she couldn’t blame herself. And wasn’t it a familiarity that had told her that friends and familiar faces weren’t so far away?

And perhaps Clarke thought the lack of trees to be another sign that she had left her past behind.

But she shook her thoughts and she thought fo what to say to bring the conversation away from pasts that she wished to avoid for the time being.

But Clarke’s ears picked up a sound she hadn’t heard for days and nights, and she knew she didn’t imagine it when Jessa’s head turned to the sounds, too, to the steady trot and the quiet neighing in the distance.

Clarke let her eyes peer out into the dimming light, and it took her a moment before she saw people in the distance, perhaps three or four or five atop horses, the lead carrying a burning flame as it flickered and danced in the breeze.

And Clarke felt the fear rise then, but only slightly, only because she knew not who the people were or what they had come to do, but she stamped it down as quickly as it had approached because she thought it not so unbelievable that others may travel through the lands.

“They saw our fire,” Jessa said as she stood, and Clarke didn’t miss the way the girl’s hand fell to a spot between her knife and her small toy, both tucked into her belt.

And perhaps Clarke found herself unsure of just how to respond, just how to react, but she saw them continue to near, she saw them continue to approach.

And it took another minute, and as they grew closer Clarke found herself peering at four people, their clothes a muddy red, tanned leathers and light cloth.

The lead rider sat atop a grey horse, the woman’s features sharp and proud as she held the torch angled away from her face, her hair braided twisted and curled into layer upon layer of dreads that fell down her shoulders, and even her skin seemed to shimmer with the faintest of reds that seemed to exist throughout her clothing as her skin glowed an amber and her eyes shone a piercing grey in the light.

“Plains Riders,” Jessa whispered as she came to stand by Clarke’s side, her body close her to hip.

“Are they friendly?” and Clarke didn’t quite know what to do, and perhaps she didn’t even know just how to process the fact that she would soon speak to another, but as she let her mind consider and turn over what might happen, she found her thoughts turning to the Mountain, to the actions she had done, and she couldn’t help but to wonder if these people would know who she was, what she had done.

“They are friendly,” Jessa said cautiously. “At least with Trikru,” and Clarke grimaced just a little as she shifted from foot to foot as the people continued to approach.

“That’s close enough,” and it surprised Clarke to find her own voice calling out to them as she took a step forward, her body angling just a little to place herself in front of Jessa.

Clarke felt Jessa try to push past her for a moment only to give up when Clarke reached back and held her steady.

The lead rider guided her horse to a stop though, and Clarke watched as the woman’s eyes took in what stood before her, and Clarke eyed the tattoos she saw, too, the dots that lined the edge of her lower lip before dotting down her chin and her throat before disappearing into her collar.

But the woman dismounted easily, the flaming torched passed to another as she took a step forward, hands held out.

“We have been tracking you,” the woman said as she paused midway between Clarke and Jessa and her own party for warriors.

“You’ve been tracking us?” Clarke asked, and she eyed the way another woman seemed to shift just a little in her horse’s saddle, hands cradling a bow in her lap.

“Yes,” the woman said, and her voice came out soft and careful.

“Why?” Clarke asked, and she felt Jessa tense behind her as she pushed the girl back just a little in the hopes of putting distance between them.

“We are scouts,” the woman said and Clarke saw her gesture to a large pack on her own horse. “We scout our border for many days before returning to our village.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” and Clarke found herself glaring at a man who moved slightly forward, his own horse throwing its head just a little.

“I am Tenebediah,” the woman said, and Clarke’s gaze snapped back to her.

“Answer the question,” and Clarke felt herself take an involuntary step backwards.

But the woman sighed just a little, and Clarke took just a second to study her, and she found laugh lines that graced the corners of her eyes, small signs of life and laughter and happiness visible upon other parts of her face.

“We found your tracks three days ago,” Tenebediah said, hand gesturing back the way Clarke and Jessa had been walking. “Most do not travel such great distances without a horse,” and the woman paused as she took a moment to eye the clothes Clarke wore, the tears and dirt that clung to the fabric despite Clarke’s best efforts of cleaning them, and Clarke sensed the woman’s gaze move to Jessa who still made a halfhearted effort to move out from behind Clarke’s body. “We thought you may be lost.”

“We aren’t lost,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what else to say.

But if she was truthful, then perhaps they were lost, because she didn’t know where she traveled, and what lay ahead, but she wasn’t so sure whether being lost by design was better than being lost by accident.

“You must be hungry,” Tenebediah said though, and Clarke saw the grey eyed woman eye Jessa’s small pack on the ground and the small flame that continued to burn and crackle.

“We have food,” Clarke answered, and she felt Jessa’s head peer out past her hip.

“Not much,” Tenebediah countered, and Clarke knew the woman took measure of the few roots they had left.

“It’s enough,” and Clarke wondered whether she saw a recognition flit across the fact of another who still remained upon her horse.

“Water?” Tenebediah asked, and Clarke knew the woman wouldn’t give up so easily.

“We manage,” but perhaps Clarke wasn’t entirely so sure of that, if only because they did need to find another source of water soon.

“By foot the closest water source is almost two days that way,” Tenebediah said as she pointed back the way they had come. “The next is four days in that direction,” and Clarke looked out into the distance the way Tenebediah gestured. “You will not make it without a horse.”

And Clarke paused for a moment as she took in the way Tenebediah met her silence with a quiet understanding, eyes moving back and forth between Jessa and her slowly.

“We do not care about whatever your pasts are,” Tenebediah said after a moment. “Unless you are criminals we simply wish to help others who are in need,” and Clarke glanced down to Jessa as the girl looked up to her for just a moment.

“Why?” Clarke asked.

“Why?” Tenebediah repeated.

“Why are you willing to help strangers?”

“Because,” and Tenebediah shrugged for a moment. “The plains are an unforgiving land that will claim life with ease if it wishes to do so. We would not survive without the help and aid of others,” and Tenebediah gestured to the scouts by her back. “We all help those of us who need aid. But most importantly, it is the right thing to do.”

And Clarke hadn’t really expected to be able to survive entirely on her own, not if she was truthful with herself, and she knew Jessa hadn’t quite thought through exactly what she had agreed to.

And perhaps Clarke had expected to run into others sooner or later, and perhaps she had expected to at least be able to trade, or find a place to live not far from where others frequented.

“Our village is not far on horse back,” Tenebediah added as Clarke remained quiet. “We can provide supplies, trade if you wish,” and the woman gestured to Jessa’s pack. “Anything that you think is fair, and then you may go on your way,” and she smiled softly, her eyes shining in the darkening light and flickering flame.

Clarke looked from the woman and then back to Jessa then, and she saw the girl’s own uncertainty in the way her nose scrunched in thought and from the way she bit her lip slightly as she looked from warrior to warrior who remained before them.

“What do you think, Jessa?” Clarke whispered to the girl, and she watched as Jessa blinked for a moment, as she thumbed the knife on her hip and chewed her lip briefly. “At least to get more supplies, then we can go somewhere else again?” But Clarke couldn’t help but to wonder if there was more to the woman’s offer.

“Ok,” and Jessa met her gaze with a nod.

“Ok?” Clarke repeated cautiously, and perhaps she wasn’t so sure whether she felt a relief or a burden begin to settle within her mind.

“Ok.”


	10. Chapter 10

Clarke had found herself enjoying the mornings, or at least the mornings where she woke early enough to see what she saw. And she found herself feeling a sense of anticipation begin to build, she found herself feeling the smallest sliver of something different begin to take hold in the very recesses of her body.

Clarke sat at the furthest edge of the flame’s reach, the fire that burned throughout the night a little more warm, a little more fierce than the fires either Jessa or herself had ever been able to usher into life.

Clarke wasn’t entirely sure why she had woken this early, she wasn’t entirely sure what had made her eyes wake to the still dark sky and to the still silent lands, but she had a suspicion, she had a thought and a feeling.

And so she found herself looking out over the lands, each small rocky outcrop that dotted the reddened yellow plains merely a giant’s footprint that journeyed aimlessly, that stepped where it wished.

And she thought it beautiful, she thought it calming, she thought it magnificent in its size and its vastness.

But too, she found it sad, she found it lonely, unsure and uncertain of what it wanted to be, of what it wished could exist.

And Clarke had woken early, she had found herself rising as quietly as she could and she had found herself moving as far from the heat before she felt the cold begin to touch her exposed flesh, and she had taken a seat on the ground and she had turned her face to where the sun would rise.

And so she had waited.

She waited for as long as it would take for the sun to grace the horizon, for as long as it would take to let its light bathe the lands in the colours of a new day.

And she had thought she had been quiet, she thought she had not woken another.

But she heard quiet footsteps break the silence, she heard a small yawn break past tired lips and she heard the pause in gait for only a moment before a warm body sat beside her.

“You should still be asleep,” Clarke said quietly, and she looked from the horizon and to Jessa who sat next to her.

“I could not sleep,” the girl answered, their gazes meeting for a moment.

“Me too,” Clarke said, and she smiled as Jessa’s nose scrunched in annoyance as a small hair tickeled her cheek from where it had escaped her braid.

They both fell silent then, and Clarke found herself looking back out to the horizon. And she found herself content, she found herself enjoying the quiet, the company, the silence that had settled upon them both. And perhaps she wasn’t entirely sure what it was that seemed to settle upon her shoulders, she wasn’t even sure she knew how to think of it, or even how she could go about voicingher thoughts.

But she knew an idea had begun to form in her mind, she knew a chance had opened itself to her and she knew that perhaps what had been offered was what she had been looking for since she had turned her back on Bellamy, on Camp Jaha.

And so the sun broken over the horizon at the same time that Clarke found herself smiling, and perhaps it was a sign, perhaps it was coincidence, and perhaps it was simply chance.

“They’re giving us a choice, Jessa,” Clarke said, and she felt Jessa look up at her from where the girl sat by her side. “We can leave, we can decide to turn away, to continue to go wherever we want,” and Clarke smiled just a little at the way the sun’s rays seemed to stretch out over the plains before her, as they began to cast morning shadows over the rocky outcrops that dotted the lands, and as they began to set the morning’s haze aflame with a light and a blaze that blurred the lands with a brilliance Clarke thought amazing.

“We could go with them,” and Clarke remembered the short conversation they had had the previous night, of the offer to trade whatever they thought was fair. “We could go to their village, trade with them what we need and then go our own way,” and Clarke pulled her gaze from the horizon and she looked down to Jessa who met her gaze with a quiet and an understanding that seemed older than the youth that clung to her face.

“Or we could stay,” Jessa said, and Clarke found herself smiling as the girl nodded to herself, as she let her own words sink in, as she let her own thoughts and worries and demons take place within her mind.

“Or we could stay.”

And Clarke saw an understanding behind Jessa’s eyes.

“Or we could stay,” and Clarke couldn’t help but bump her shoulder against Jessa, she couldn’t help but to think of what could come to pass if the choice was made. “For however long they’ll have us,” and Clarke didn’t quite know how to put into words what she felt, but perhaps not knowing was enough, perhaps not having any more responsibility than simply living, than moving forward with each new day was enough for her tired mind.

And perhaps it was what she needed.

And perhaps, too, as she looked at Jessa, as she watched the girl think, as she watched the girl look out to the horizon and take in the aflame lands, she thought that maybe, just maybe, Jessa needed the same.

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Jessa sat at the edge of the camp as the sun continued to rise and settle lowly in the sky. After some time she heard the sounds of Tenebediah and the other scouts waking, she heard the whispered words that tried not to disturb, and she heard the rustle of leathers and furs and clothes and things being prepared for the morning, even the sounds of horses neighing in the settling winter cold.

Clarke looked over her shoulder as she heard the approach of feet and she saw Tenebediah moving their way, two bowls in her hands, steam rising from the contents and her gaze just a little guarded and careful in the still piercing light of a rising sun.

“You did not sleep,” Tenebediah said, and Clarke smiled awkwardly as she reached forward and took both the offered bowls, one passed to Jessa quickly.

“Yeah,” and Clarke whispered a word of thanks as she took in the dreadlocks that wove their way through Tenebediah’s hair, the way she squinted just a little in the sun and the way her clothes seemed to bleed into the orange light of the sun.

But Clarke’s gaze moved past Tenebediah and to the scouts, two already mounting their horses as they guided them away from the flame to leave just one other by the campsite.

“Where are they going?” Clarke asked, and she saw Tenebediah look over her shoulder.

“To our village,” she answered, “they will ride ahead and tell them to expect company,” but at Tenebediah's words, Clarke saw the woman pause, an uncertainty beginning to take place in her eyes.

“We have nowhere to call home,” Clarke said as she stood and as she held the warm bowl in her hands. And she didn’t quite know just how to say that she wished to at least see what life was like in Tenebediah’s village, she didn’t know how to broach such a topic, but from the way the woman smiled a little more freely, from the way she nodded and looked down to Jessa who seemed content to sit and eat, Clarke thought the woman understood.

“We have room,” Tenebediah said as she motioned for Clarke to follow her, “but everyone must provide for the village,” and Clarke nodded her own understanding that whatever accomodation that was offered did not come freely.

“I understand,” Clarke said as she looked back to Jessa to see the girl look out to the horizon for just another moment before scuffling to her feet and quickly falling into step beside them both.

And Clarke couldn’t help but wonder still, that her being a member of Skaikru played a part in Tenebediah’s offer, whether tech was expected, sought after, wished for.

“We do not care what your past may be,” Tenebediah said, and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile at the woman’s words that echoed their previous conversation.

“You said that before,” and Clarke wasn’t so sure why she felt at ease, why she felt just a little less tense and wary than she thought she should have.

And perhaps it was because she thought it no secret that Tenebediah and the others knew who she was, or had guessed, but that her identity didn’t quite matter to them.

At least for now.

“And it was and will continue to be the truth,” Tenebediah said, and Clarke saw her gesture to the man who knelt by a pile of sleeping furs, some already rolled, some still loose, one halfway packed. “This is Jorda,” and the dark skinned man rose, a hand running over his short curly hair for just a second as he scratched at an itch.

And so Jorda came to his feet, his wiry frame lithe and snakelike in its motions as he smiled for a moment before stretching his arm out to Clarke.

“Clarke,” she offered before gesturing to Jessa, “Jessa,” and perhaps she found it just a little rude that she hadn’t thought of telling Tenebediah their names sooner.

But Clarke discarded the thought as she reached her own hand out cautiously before Jorda grasped her wrist.

“It is best if we leave soon,” Jorda said as he squeezed once before releasing her wrist. “We can arrive at our village before nightfall.”

And Clarke couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave soon, if only because she, herself, had found that the nights had become increasingly colder.

“We can leave whenever,” Clarke said and she looked down to Jessa for a second to see the girl nod her head in agreement, bowl to her lips as she drank some of the warm stew.

“But first, eat,” Jorda said as he gestured to Clarke’s own bowl in her hand. “There is time for that.”

 

* * *

 

Shadows seemed a little shorter by the time Clarke found herself standing before one of two large horses that remained, and she looked to her side to see Jessa eyeing the closest one, her pack over her shoulder, hand resting on her hip, the knife and her small stuffed toy in their familiar place.

“You will ride with me,” and Clarke saw Tenebediah smile for a moment as she finished tying her own packs to the side of her horse before gesturing for Clarke to approach. “Jessa will ride with Jorda,” and Clarke saw Jessa shrug before stepping towards the other as Jorda knelt down, hands held out for Jessa to use to help her onto the horse.

But Clarke wasn’t surprised when she saw Jessa try to pull herself onto the horse without help as Jorda seemed content to watch her with a smile as he humoured her attempt.

“How far is it to your village?” Clarke asked as she stepped back a pace as Tenebediah swung herself into the horse’s saddle, one hand patting the horse’s neck briefly.

“Perhaps almost a day’s ride,” Tenebediah answered as she looked up into the sky for a moment. “Now, up,” and Tenebediah held her hand out for Clarke to take.

And Clarke couldn’t help but to feel just a little unsure of how best to approach pulling herself onto the horse.

And she was sure the horse looked at her with a curiosity and an intrigue that seemed to be filled with just a little judgement.

But Clarke glanced once to Jessa to see the girl already settling into the saddle in front of Jorda who shifted back just a bit as he made a space for Jessa to sit comfortably.

“Put your foot here,” Tenebediah said as she tapped a stirrup with her heel. “Use this to pull yourself up,” she finished as she gestured to a loop on the side of the saddle made of thick leather.

And so Clarke grit her teeth, she tried not to wince too obviously at the pull in her shoulder and she forced herself into the saddle with a grunt and a groan. But Tenebediah’s hand reached out and helped lift her into place with a strength that surprised Clarke, her hand gentle as it grasped her arm, and Clarke was sure the woman had sensed her pain, had sensed her discomfort in her motions.

“Thanks, Tenebediah,” Clarke said as she found herself sitting atop the horse behind the woman, her braided dreadlocks fuzzy against her cheek.

“My friends call me Ten,” and Clarke saw the woman look over her shoulder with a smile and a contentedness that seemed eager now that she sat atop a horse.

“Thanks,” and Clarke took just a moment to consider the open hand Tenebediah seemed to offer in words. “Ten.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke had always appreciated just how beautiful the plains she had walked through had been, but now, as she sat atop a horse, and as her legs didn’t ache, and her feet didn’t hurt with each little step, she felt that she could really take the time to look out into the distance, into the flashings of red and yellows and greens that raced passed.

Ten and Jorda had pushed their horses hard, the lands had flashed by and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile into the press of Ten’s hair as it whipped out behind her as the wind made it live freely. And Clarke found herself enjoying the sensations of speed, of drifting aimlessly, without little more to consider than simply holding onto what purchase she could find as Ten guided the horse with little taps, little twitches of a hand and little utterances that seemed to speak more to the horse than Clarke could fully grasp.

And she knew Jessa seemed to be enjoying the rapid pace that had been set, too, and as she once more looked to the girl who sat before Jorda, whose own horse seemed little worried by the rapid gallop it ran, Clarke could see the smile that had broken free.

And so Clarke let her eyes move to the horizon they raced towards, she let her gaze take in every shimmering haze in the distance, and she let her thoughts turn to futures and to days to come, and, too, she let the days she had lived, and the pasts she had survived flash by in a blur of red and yellow and green grasses and dirt and rocks until all she could see was a future where she hoped she wouldn’t be faced with choices she never wanted to be given again.

 

* * *

 

It must have been a few hours past midday by the time Clarke saw the shimmering haze of water in the distance, and it surprised her by just how far they must have travelled, just how fast the horses they rode upon were.

And so Ten pulled lightly on the reins of her horse as they neared, and Clarke looked to see Jorda doing the same as he squinted out to the flowing river that snaked through the lands before them.

But sound caught Clarke’s attention and she looked out to the river, to the sounds of the water flowing and trickling over pebble and stone, and she saw a large wood wagon, horses and a small group of people lingering by the water’s edge, some sitting, some by a fire, others resting on the riverbed.

“Traders,” Ten said as she sensed Clarke’s gaze shift from wagon to horse to person before them.

And so they came to a pause not far from the traders, and Clarke saw a man look up from where he crouched by the riverbed, his hair slicked back, a scruffy beard covering his face, his nose beaklike and proud as he peered up at her with squinted curiosity.

Ten held the horse steady as Clarke dismounted, and she turned in time to see Jorda hold out his hands for Jessa only for the girl to ignore his offer with a scoff as she slid off its side with a stubborn awkwardness that Clarke was sure Jorda found just a little endearing from the glimmer in his eyes.

Ten landed on her feet then, gaze moving from the traders to Clarke for just a moment.

“We will rest here for a moment,” Ten said. “Allow the horses to drink and to rest then we will continue,” and Ten smiled before handing Jorda the reins of her horse as she untied a pack from her horse’s side before moving towards the traders, her hand raising in greeting.

“What’s she doing?” Clarke asked Jorda as she watched Ten pause in the open as she opened her pack and began to search in it.

“All who cross the plains survive with the help of others,” Jorda answered as he came to stand beside Clarke, Jessa happy to chat away quietly to one of the horses. “Our lands may not be as harsh as others,” but Jorda gestured out around them. “But still, it is important to care for others who may be in need,” and Clarke turned back to Ten to see two of the traders approaching, the man she had first seen, whose gaze moved back to hers for a long moment, and a woman, half her face tattooed, one hand covered in a thick glove.

“Ten will see if they need anything,” Jorda continued and Clarke looked back to the man to see him scratching at an itch at the corner of his eye for a moment. “Perhaps we will have something that they need, and perhaps they will have something that we need or that they would be willing to trade that is a fair exchange,” and Jorda sighed as he began to tug on the horse’s reins in the direction of the river. “It does not hurt to ask,” he called over his shoulder with a smile.

“Plains Riders have great horses,” and Clarke looked down to Jessa who eyed the traders and the horses they had.

“They do?” and Clarke wondered just how different the horses were.

“Yes,” and Jessa sighed as she sat on the ground. “They are larger than the trader’s horses,” and Jessa gestured their way. “They ran faster than Trikru horses, too,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile at the envy she heard in Jessa’s voice.

“Maybe they’ll trade you one when we get to their village,” and Clarke laughed as she saw Jessa seriously consider her words as her nose scrunched in thought and as she huffed away a loose strand of her hair, the messy braid she kept it in loosened to the wind and their rapid ride.

“Really?” Jessa asked, and Clarke sat down beside the girl as she stretched her own legs out.

“Maybe,” and Clarke nudged Jessa’s shoulder with her own.

“I would very much like my own horse,” Jessa said, and Clarke watched as Jessa looked out to the horses Jorda stood by, both large beasts drinking heavily, a subtle steam rising from their resting bodies.

“Yeah,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to think it an enticing thought to be able to own her own horse, to be able to take it where she pleased, to have the freedom to go where she wished, and to feel the wind through her hair.

And she took a moment to consider just what lay in store for them both now that they seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement with Ten that they would stay at her village.

And Clarke couldn’t quite shake the thought that maybe trading something was expected, and hadn’t Ten said as much?

But yet, Clarke didn’t quite feel a sense of dread, she didn’t even feel a sense of turmoil.

And perhaps, as she continued to think over the situation, she thought she didn’t feel those things if only because all she needed to do was trade what she thought was fair, with no judgement, with no more or no less responsibility than what she was willing to take.

And hadn’t that been what Clarke searched for? Hadn’t that been why she left?

To live without responsibility, without guilt? To be free of judgement for her actions, to be questioned and to have death hanging over her shoulders?

Perhaps Clarke found herself looking forward to the future.

If only because she thought all those things as something Ten had offered.

 

* * *

 

Clarke had never really spent long enough on a horse to really appreciate just how tiring it could be. But as the sun began its final descent in the sky, she couldn’t help but to groan and grimace with each lurching motion of the horses, with each little shifting of muscle and with each galloping leap they took over the lands.

But Clarke found a relief flooding her body as she heard Ten call out to her that their village was close, that they would arrive soon and that rest and comfort would soon be upon them.

And so Clarke turned her eyes out to the horizon, and she squinted through the distance and she was sure she should have been able to at least see the faintest hints of a village given how flat the plains were. But, all she saw was the faintest of mountains in the great distance, that seemed to loom higher and higher and higher, whose peaks she thought must have been snow capped, that must have been cut to the elements, to the wind and snow.

But perhaps as suddenly as could be, Clarke felt Ten pull on the horse’s reins, and she saw Jorda do the same, and at the same time Clarke was sure she heard the sounds of galloping rolling off the lands, she was sure she even heard the sounds of cries ringing out in the air, of shouts, of cheers and roars of laughter, even the distinct twang of an arrow being fired and the sounds of it finding its mark.

“What is that?” Jessa called out, and Clarke looked to the girl to see her standing in the stirrups, eyes trying to find the source of the noise.

“You will see,” Jorda answered as he tugged on her leathers to seat her back in the saddle.

“Our warriors train at all times,” Ten said over her shoulder, and Clarke met the woman’s words with a nod of understanding, if only because she had seen the same in the Trikru warriors who seemed ever battered and bruised and ready for whatever conflict they anticipated.

But Clarke pushed those thoughts aside as Ten and Jorda urged their horses on gently, the beasts seemingly a little more eager for rest now that they sensed just how close they were to their destination.

But yet, as they continued forward slowly, Clarke couldn’t quite understand where the noise was coming from, she couldn’t even quite understand why they rode at such a slow pace through the open plains.

And as her thoughts seemed to swirl through her mind, as they seemed to reach a crescendo, her confusion was answered with a gasp and wide-eyed stare.

For the lands opened up for them seemingly out of nowhere.

The plains they rode upon dropped down suddenly into the largest of valleys Clarke had ever imagined, and at first glance Clarke thought it was as wide as it was deep, with its sides fading away into the distance in any direction she looked. The sheer, reddened grass swept plains dropped down almost vertically before spilling out into the valley that glinted with the sun’s setting light, each beam bouncing off the shimmerings of a water source, of rivers that seemed towend aimlessly, joyfully and independently from each other before forming a large lake in the greater distance, whose surface seemed to glow in the orange light.

Small clusterings of timid trees stood together in groups, too, each one’s branches needlelike, but strong and determined as they reached up as high as they could into the sky, the leaves that dotted their branches charmingly small in shape.

Even the air that settled over the valley seemed awe-inspiring to Clarke, for the sun seemed to bounce off the valley’s walls and tint the lands a red, the air seemed to set the lands ablaze as the light bounced off tree and blade of grass, and valley wall and sprawling plains.

But what really caught Clarke’s gaze were the warriors she saw atop horse back in the distance below. She watched as they rode in a great half circle around a cluster of what she assumed to be targets, and with each pass the warriors made Clarke saw them stand in their saddles, she saw some lean over, some twisting their bodies, others swivelling fully in their saddles as they passed the targets, and she heard the telltale twang and thump as arrows were released and as targets were hit.

Her gaze moved to another larger plain not far from the first, and Clarke saw other warriors riding back and forth, the horses eager and energetic in movements, and Clarke was sure those warriors must have been practicing war manoeuvres, drills and formations that could as easily take life as they could save life.

And then, even deeper into the valley Clarke saw other warriors, these ones no smaller than ants as they ran through an open field as horses ran towards them, and Clarke couldn’t help but gasp out in shock and surprise as she saw the warriors reach out as quickly and as surely as any warrior she had seen, and she watched as each one snared their horse’s saddle and flung themselves onto their mounts with a smoothness that spoke of years of training and determination and concentration.

“Welcome to our lands, Clarke,” Ten said to her, and Clarke knew she heard the pride in the woman’s voice, and she looked to Ten in front of her before looking to Jessa to sat wide eyed and awed as she took in the warriors that moved below.

“Our village,” and Clarke looked to Jorda to see him pointing down to the lake in the distance, Jessa’s gaze following his outstretched hand with an awed expression.

And as Clarke squinted, she was sure she could see the shimmerings of a village by the lake’s edge, its centre dominated by what Clarke thought to be a great bonfire, its buildings spiralling out from its centre in sweeping rings, all joined by a web of flowing side streets and main roads that seemed to be bustling and full of life.

And as Clarke looked back to Jessa, she couldn’t blame the girl for staring and for being awed.

If only because she, too, felt the same.

 

* * *

 

The winding journey down the side of the valley and into the valley floor took a long few minutes, Ten and Jorda careful yet confident in the guidance of their horses as they wove in-between craggy rocks and clumps of grass, dirt and swaying vegetation.

And so Clarke eyed the many warriors and other people they passed, each one atop great horses, bows and quivers of arrows settled upon shoulders, hanging from hips or tied to the side of horses.

“All our warriors must know how to fire arrow and use bow on horseback,” Ten said as they passed another group of warriors who looked Clarke and Jessa up and down with a curiosity and intrigue.

“Our plains are large,” Jorda said, and he gestured out around them. “This valley is only one of a few,” and he paused for a moment as he nodded to a warrior in the distance who raised a hand in greeting. “So our villages are large, our people live in large groups.”

“Unlike Trikru,” Ten continued. “Trikru live in smaller villages, but there are more,” and Clarke thought that that revelation made sense.

If only because people would tend to cluster around water sources rather than spread out over empty lands.

“And that’s why you’ve all got horses?” Clarke asked, and she found herself realising that every person, warrior and other alike, all rode horse, none without.

“Yes,” and Clarke heard a pride in Ten’s voice. “All must have a horse if they wish to travel across our lands,” and Ten paused as she nodded to her own recognised face they passed. “It is a right of passage to choose a horse.”

And so gentle conversation continued back and forth between them, and Clarke found herself continuing to look out at the lands, at the vast valley walls that they had just been atop of, and at the groups of warriors they continued to pass in the distance who all seemed content to continue training in the setting sun’s light.

 

* * *

 

The village Clarke had seen at the valley’s ridgeline seemed larger now that she paused at its gates.

Or perhaps gates was the wrong word. If only because there were no gates, and no walls, and that buildings seemed to spring up subtly at first, small storehouses, larger stables and small rest homes for the weary.

But Clarke was sure that she now stood before an invisible boundary where the village met with open plains. And she thought so because buildings, some large, some small clustered together in a line, an arc and a circle, and Clarke was sure this was the first of the rings of buildings she had seen as they had descended into the valley.

“This is a village?” Clarke asked to Ten who stood by her side, the woman hitching a pack higher onto her shoulders as she took a moment to settle a lock of hair that fell out of place.

“Yes,” and Ten smiled as she followed Clarke’s gaze through the winding main street that opened a path through the first of the buildings before them. “It is large,” Ten said and Clarke couldn’t help but to hear just the faintest hints of jest in the woman’s voice. “Now come.”

And so Clarke fell into tired step beside Ten, Jessa close by her side as Jorda took up the rear, and Clarke wasn’t so sure what to say, what to voice and perhaps even what to think.

Perhaps she had expected a smaller village, perhaps she had expected a quiet village, something simple, something less filled with what she was sure would be frantic commotion when the sun hung at its highest point in the sky.

And yet, as Clarke took in each building they passed, each window that was closed with a red stained fabric, each door that was kept open with a doorstop carved of stone, of rock, of tree or even of metal, Clarke couldn’t help but think of futures where she could lose herself to a new life, to something that could replace and overshadow whatever pasts she had once lived.

And even more than that, she perhaps thought that such a life could keep her mind from straying too far to memories she hoped to never dwell on again.

“What is this place called?” Clarke asked, and she saw Jessa’s eyes take in all that she saw too.

“Raska,” Ten said. “It is not the largest of our villages,” and Clarke wondered just how large the others must be.

And Clarke didn’t think she could do much more than nod at Ten’s words and so she fell quiet, eyes taking in all that she saw.

Torches burned in sconces embedded into the ground, their flames flickering to the very slight breeze that filtered its way down to the valley floor, shadows seemed longer now, too, the sun already dipping below the valley walls and Clarke was sure darkness would render the city in a purple depth that would be as equally intense as the fierceness of the reddened hue that still clung desperately around them.

People moved about, too, and Clarke took in the clothes they wore, and she couldn’t help but to compare them to those she had seen of Trikru. And she thought the clothes of the Plains Riders more free, lighter than the leathers and metals and furs of Trikru. And she couldn’t help but feel just a little envy at what it must feel like to have the warmth of thick cloth wrap her body, to have loose fabrics breathe against her skin.

And perhaps as those thoughts began to settle within her mind she couldn’t help but to also feel just a little self conscious to the fact that her clothes must have been too obvious, too foreign. And she knew what she wore to be torn and dirtied, frayed and battered and beaten to the wilds she had traversed.

“You can trade for new clothes,” Ten said quietly, and Clarke looked up to see the woman peering at her with a caution in her eyes that made Clarke think she had been read too easily, or that she had been too open in her thoughts, in her movements.

But as Ten’s words sunk in, Clarke realised that she didn’t quite have anything she could trade for. If only because Jessa had been the only one to carry anything else with her, that had been the only one with anything worth more than nothing.

“I don’t think I have anything worth trading for,” and Clarke found herself not quite able to look Ten in the eyes, and she found herself too afraid to let her voice carry too far lest Jessa overhear. If only because she was sure the girl would offer what little she had.

“That is ok,” and Ten smiled for a moment as she nodded to a couple that they passed. “Perhaps you can work for them,” and Clarke looked away in thought as she wondered just what she had not so overtly agreed to.

“That won’t be a problem?” Clarke asked, and she couldn’t help but to worry her lip.

“No,” Ten shrugged.

And so Clarke found herself smiling in thanks just a little, but she looked over her shoulder to find Jessa and Jorda talking quietly, the man seemingly content to humour Jessa’s barrage of questions and prods as she gestured to each building they passed, each new thing they saw.

“I don’t think Jessa understands what’s really happening,” Clarke said after a moment, and she saw Ten’s eyebrows quirk together in thought. “She hasn’t once looked back, I don’t think she realised what she agreed to when she decided to follow me,” and Clarke looked away in thought as they continued to wind through the streets, the grass underfoot just a little downtrodden and beaten to the feet and the traffic that graced these passageways. “I don’t think she understands that I don’t ever want to go back,” and at that Clarke found herself realising she had said more, that she had revealed more than she had intended to do.

But yet she found herself not so caring that Ten knew.

If only because she thought the woman didn’t mind so much.

“Perhaps you do not give her enough credit, Clarke,” Ten countered, the woman taking in each little exchange between both Jessa and Jorda. “Perhaps she wished to escape whatever demons lived in her past just as much as you did,” and Ten shrugged again. “Perhaps she is embracing this new chance for life that she has taken for herself.”

And at that Clarke found that they had come to stop at the opposite end of the village, this section more quiet than she had realised, more out of the way, less full of the bustle of people, of animals and whatever other sounds seemed to filter through a village no matter the hour.

Clarke looked around them then, and she saw smaller huts than those that they had passed, and these ones seemed simple, but still, built with no less care than the others.

And they stood before a small hut, whose roof was thatched, its walls a mixture of wood boards and fabrics and leather, perhaps almost a tent in the stages of permanence rather than that of a settled home, but as Clarke took in the swaying red fabric that covered each small window, as she took in the doorframe and its intricate carvings and as she took in the patterns that seemed to be stitched into every piece of fabric and leather, Clarke was sure that the small hut would be as homely as any she could imagine.

But perhaps most of all, she didn’t think she could complain with what she thought was being offered.

“You may call this home for as long as you wish,” Ten said as she gestured forward.

And Clarke couldn’t help but to chew on her lip for a moment as she took yet another moment to consider.

But perhaps this time she found that she already had the answer to her question.

“For as long as we wish?” Clarke asked, and she looked to Jessa who had quietened, who had moved to her side, eyes taking in the small hut as a hand clutched at the small toy on her hip.

“Yes,” Ten said.

And so Clarke took in the deepest of breaths that she could, she let her eyes close and she tried to settle her thoughts as she heard the faintest whisperings of her past try to bubble free, try to find a place that hadn’t been banished to the corners of her mind.

But as Clarke’s eyes opened she found herself surprised to see her gaze remained steady and sure as she looked to the hut before back to Jessa and then Ten and Jorda who stood a pace away.

“I—”

“You do not need to say anything,” Ten preempted as she held up a hand. “For now,” and Ten gestured forward. “Enter, rest, sleep if you wish. I will return with new clothes,” and Clarke couldn’t help but smile just a little as she sensed Jessa’s eagerness at that.

“Thank you,” Clarke said, and she hadn’t meant for her voice to come out so quietly, she hadn’t even meant for it to break just a little at the ends.

But she found herself not quite so sure how to react to what she found happening.

If only because she had perhaps expected demands to have been demanded, requirements to be required and even responsibilities to be given.

And yet, she found none of that.

“I will return soon,” Ten said once more before she smiled as she turned and began to walk away, Jorda quick to send a smile and a nod to Jessa before he, too turned and fell into place beside Ten, their hands quick to intertwine as they began to bleed into the reddened haze of the plains.

“Is this our home?” Jessa asked.

And Clarke turned back to the girl to see her looking to the small hut, her eyes wide once more, her braid messed, hair tussled and pack in arm.

“Yeah,” and Clarke found herself smiling just a little as she took a step forward, her hand cautious as it came to press against the wood of the door. “I guess it is,” and Clarke gave a gentle push.

The door swung open quietly, just a little creak giving way to its movements. The inside of the hut was as homely as Clarke had expected. A small table sat in its centre, a chair in the corner to the left, another in the corner to the right. A hanging sheet of red stained fabric hung from the roof, intricate stitching bringing to life a pattern through the fabric of a scene of horses racing through open fields.

Clarke stepped through the hut then, and she felt Jessa shadow her movements with her own uncertainty and caution, but Clarke was sure she also felt an excitement and a happiness begin to roll off the other girl.

And it didn’t surprise Clarke when Jessa took another cautious step forward until she came to a stop in the centre of the room and turned in a slow circle with a smile on her face as she took in each small and simple detail that had become a place for them both to find refuge.

“Do you want to stay?” Clarke asked out, and she watched as Jessa moved deeper into the small hut’s interior, as she came to the curtain and pulled it aside to reveal a small bedroom and a large, simple bed in the corner, sheets and and furs and softened pillows laid out neatly.

“Yes,” and Jessa turned back to her, eyes steadying, and Clarke took just a moment to think of what Ten had spoken of, and so she found herself following Jessa’s path through the room before she came to kneel before the girl.

“For as long as we want?”

“Yes,” and Jessa nodded.

“For as long as they’ll have us?” and Clarke wasn’t so sure who she tried to reassure now.

“Yes,” and Jessa smiled just a little more confidently.

And so Clarke nodded.

But she heard the quiet thump of feet against grass and she turned to the sound of a knock that rang out quietly through the hut.

Ten stood by the entrance, arms wrapped around a large packed parcel, her braided locks seemingly more free and lighter than moments ago.

“For you,” Ten said as she held out the parcel as Clarke took it from her.

“I’ll work for them,” Clarke said, and she made sure Ten met her gaze as she looked down into her arms to see neatly folded leathers and fabrics and cloths she knew would serve her well for however long she needed.

“We will work for them,” and Clarke looked down to see Jessa standing by her side, the girl halfway reaching for the parcel, too.

“Now rest,” and Ten smiled as she reached out and laid a hand atop Jessa’s head for a moment. “For tonight, for tomorrow. For however long you nee—”

“Tomorrow,” Clarke cut in. “First thing tomorrow,” and she found herself latching onto whatever new life she would be embracing. “I’ll be wherever I’m needed.”

Ten took a moment to take her measure, to eye the shallowness of her cheeks, the shadows under her eyes and the cuts and bruises upon her body, to the subtle way Clarke held her arm to her side, and to the still fresh scar that cut through her forehead and down the side of her temple.

“Tomorrow,” Ten nodded. “I will be here.”

Ten smiled as she turned and left, her own gait finding a tiredness that Clarke was sure was long overdue.

And so Clarke let the door close with a quiet thud, and as she turned she couldn’t help but to smile just a little as Jessa began to light candles that she found had been placed around the hut, whose flames now gave the hut enough light for them both to see.

“Tomorrow,” and Clarke smiled as Jessa looked up at her words. “Are you ok with that?”

“Yes,” Jessa answered with a yawn, and Clarke couldn’t help but to feel her own fatigue beginning to really settle in.

And so she made her way to the bed behind the red stained curtain, the softness of pillows calling to her.

And she wondered for just a moment how sleeping arrangement would be made in days and nights to come, but for now she didn’t quite mind that Jessa followed her with heavy step, and Clarke found herself not quite minding as Jessa crawled onto the bed, as she kicked off her dirty boots and as she curled herself into a small ball, eyes quick to close and breathing quick to even out.

And just before Clarke found herself doing the same she took a moment to look out of the nearest window, the fabric that covered it enough to keep the world outside quiet and blurred to her vision.

But perhaps, if she tried hard enough to let her mind see, she was sure she sensed the faintest wisps of her demons who seemed to have accepted their place somewhere in the recesses of her mind where their existence wasn’t able to be quite so piercing as they once had been.

And Clarke let her head fall onto the pillow, she let the bed take her bodily aches and pains, and she let her breathing fall into a rhythm and a peace she didn’t think she had felt for so very long.

And so Clarke found a smile gracing her lips as she felt Jessa’s body roll into hers and as she found her thoughts turning to futures yet to come.


	11. Chapter 11

“Get up.”

The words rang out through the clearing as the sun beat down on her face, as the sweat dripped from her flesh and as her breaths came out broken and ragged.

“Get up.”

The words came repeated, their tone sharp, piercing and fierce to her ears.

She reached out then, her fingers grasping at the grass, at the dirt and rock and mud beneath her as she tried to force herself to her feet, as she tried to force herself to stand.

“Get up.”

The blow across her face made her see stars, made her vision blur and her ears ring. She even tasted blood, she felt the cut on her lip and she felt the pain as it began to stab into her flesh.

“Get up.”

The kick to her ribs made her gasp out, made her cry out, made her scream her angers and her frustrations and her pains.

But somehow, someway she found herself standing, a hand clutched to her ribs, another wiping the trail of blood from her lips.

“Pick up your sword.”

And she looked around then, she looked for the glint, for the familiarity of the blade and she found it strewn across the clearing, its blade mud-swept, dulled and listless as it lay where it had landed.

“Pick it up.”

The voice echoed out again, and she only spared one glance at the woman who stood before her, and she saw an anger, an annoyance, a curiosity and an amusement lilting behind narrowed eyes.

“Pick it up.”

And the woman gestured to the sword with a knife held lazily in her hand.

And so she turned, she took measured steps and she grimaced just a little at the dark smudge of blood on her palm as she reached out with a shaky arm.

She turned to face the woman then, her eyes squinting in the rising sun, its rays fierce as they cut blades of light through the trees that surrounded the clearing.

But her gaze snapped to the woman who advanced, whose eyes turned eager, whose own face still held signs of barely gone youth.

“Defend yourself,” the woman said.

She levelled her sword at the woman who approached, she widened her stance and she tried to recognise the pattern hidden in the woman’s steps, in each movement she made, in each false start she let loose as she began to weave the knife through the air.

And the woman attacked with a snarl, her foot kicked up dirt in distraction before slashing out with the knife, its edge sharp, its point glinting in the sunlight.

She saw the distraction though, she even anticipated it, if only because it had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember, and she knew now that any opportunity to distract, any opportunity to give her pause would be taken.

And so she spun with the spray of dirt, her hand coming up for only a second to block the majority of it and then she ducked under the slashing knife, her sword coming up to slice at an exposed thigh.

But so too, did the woman anticipate her movements, and she felt the blow across her face as the woman’s fist smashed into her nose, as it bloodied it and flattened it yet another time.

And that was all it took for the woman to pounce, to kick her legs out from under her and to send her flying through the air before she crashed to the ground with a gasp of pain.

“Get up.”

The words rang out through the air, their tone sharp, commanding.

“Get up.”

The words came repeated, each syllable ringing through her ears as the woman took a step back and settled herself into yet another stance, something different, something foreign, something new for her to learn, to adapt to.

“Get up.”

She found her feet again, her arms shaking to the exhaustion that filled her bones, her face burning to the pain and her eyes watering to what she was sure was yet another broken nose.

She spat out a mouthful of blackened blood then, and she couldn’t help but to swallow painfully as her eyes met the woman’s gaze that hardened as she began to advance.

And so Lexa found herself hoping just a little that Anya wouldn’t strike her across the nose this time.

 

* * *

 

Lexa peered down into the forest below her, ears straining as she tried to hear, tried to listen and to pick out any sound that could give her prey away. She inched forward just a slight amount on the branch only to stop as she felt it dip and sway just a little too much for comfort.

She heard the faintest whisper of a rustle though and she glanced to her right to find Anya moving forward in her own tree, the woman’s bow already drawn, her body crouched and poised with each confident step she took further and further out on the tree’s branch.

And Lexa could be forgiven for thinking the sight awe-inspiring, she could be forgiven for thinking the sight death defying, electrifying and thrilling.

And she could be forgiven for thinking all those things because she thought Anya a huntress, a shadow, a ghost that moved easily through the trees, the woman’s dark clothes, brown leathers and furs and blackened warpaint a sight fearsome and defiant.

And so Lexa grit her teeth, she steadied her breath and she forced unsure limbs to take her weight, to push off just a little from her own branch as she began to mimic Anya’s motions through the tree tops.

Lexa heard it then. She heard the rustle below and she heard the crack of a stick that broke under the weight of an animal.

And so Lexa glanced just once to Anya to see the woman poised and waiting. And Anya’s gaze was curious as she took in each movement Lexa made, each decision, each choice.

Lexa only spared Anya one quick look of question before she found herself reaching over her shoulder, her fingers shaking just a little as she knocked arrow to battered bow.

Lexa drew slowly and surely, eyes aimed down into the thickest of the forest floor below her as she followed the slightest of movements of the animal she could only just sense through the underbrush.

She took in a measured breath, she listened to the beating of her heart and she let the songs the wind sang fill her mind with a calm as she felt the fletching of the arrow tickle against her lip.

But the animal must have sensed the change in the air, it must have sensed a danger, a threat and a warning.

And Lexa couldn’t hold back the curse as the animal darted, she found her lips turning into a snarl of anger as she saw the darkened fur of a boar begin to race away.

But she hadn’t come this far to fail, she hadn’t scaled tree after deathly high tree under the watch of Anya only to fail at her most pivotal moment.

And so Lexa leant forward over the branch as much as her tired legs could let her, she let the embrace of gravity begin to sink into her body and she let her heart still for just a second.

And then she fired, she smile and she felt the arrow snap forward with a hiss and a whistle.

And she heard the animal cry out in pain as the arrow must have found its mark, as it punctured skin and flesh and muscle.

But Lexa felt herself slip too, she felt herself lean too far out, too precarious and too determined for her own good.

And she felt herself slip, slide, lose grip, and she cried out once more, she felt fear rise, she felt it spike and she felt the blood scream through her ears as she the tree’s branch gave way with a snap and a crack.

And Lexa fell, she fell hard, she hit the branch just under her only to bounce off it, only for her shin to collide with the tree’s trunk as she kicked out for purchase. She saw the ground racing up to meet her, too, she saw each little stone, each stick, each grass, bush and root that would leave her body broken and battered and ruined.

But she felt strong arms snatch out, she felt muscled forearms bite into her stomach, she felt herself slammed to the tree’s trunk only halfway through her fall and she felt herself cradled against a leathered torso as coarse hair brushed against her forehead.

“You fell,” Gustus said, his voice vibrating through her head from where he held her firm.

“I did not,” Lexa said as she tried to push away, as she tried to fight back the reddening of her ears, the heat in her cheeks and the flush through her skin.

“You did not fall?” Gustus questioned as he began to lower them both down the tree with strong grip and easy motion.

“I did not,” Lexa said, and she tried to raise her chin in defiance, she tried to glare past the leathers and furs and beard blocking her vision.

“Then why did I catch you?” Gustus said, and Lexa couldn’t help but to sense a tease and a jest in his tone.

“I was testing you,” and she thought the reason safe, believable.

But she turned as she heard the thump and she saw Anya rise from where she landed in a crouch, the woman’s gaze taking in what must have been Lexa’s dishevelled and bruised state.

“You did not fall?” Anya said, and Lexa watched as the woman moved to the now dead animal, Lexa’s arrow embedded firmly in its side where it had collapsed.

“I did not,” and Lexa lifted her chin, she hardened her gaze and she tried not to let the ache in her ribs show on her face.

“Then you must not be injured,” and Anya prodded the animal with her foot. “You will carry this,” and she turned and began walking through the thick underbrush in the direction of where they had made camp.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s ribs protested every little movement she made as she continued pushing forward with little more than grit teeth and clenched jaw. Tree branch and bush continued to whip at her body as Anya walked in front, the woman not so caring of the tree branches snapping back as she pressed onwards.

But Lexa knew not to protest, not to even ask for Anya to take more care.

And so she winced just a little as she hitched the cooling animal higher onto her shoulder and continued to follow Anya who moved through the forest, her eyes ever guarded and careful as she took in all that surrounded them.

But Anya paused, her body stilled and Lexa saw the woman’s hand fall to the knife on her hip as her other hand reached back to unhook her bow from where it lay strapped to her back.

Lexa’s ears tried picking up the sound of whatever had given Anya pause, she tried searching the forest around them, she tried separating green moss from green leaf and brown tree trunk from blackened soil.

And she felt Gustus move slowly, too, the man’s body coming to stand close by her as he took a hold of his sword, as he began to draw it ever so slowly.

Lexa heard it then, she heard the quiet crack as a stick snapped underfoot and she snapped her gaze around in the direction of the sound as her breathing began to pick up and as her eyes began following the shadow that moved through the trees.

But Anya seemed to relax as easily as she had stilled, and so too, did Gustus.

“Who is it?” Lexa asked quietly, eyes trying to pick person from shadow.

“Hunters,” Anya answered quietly, the woman already beginning to move forward once more.

Lexa fell into step with Anya then, the woman’s gaze still following the shadows of the hunters that moved through the trees, and as Lexa continued to watch she began to see shapes separate themselves from the others.

A man walked ahead, his own eyes only occasionally flicking in the direction that Lexa walked, and she knew him to be gauging his own proximity, his own direction lest he stray too close.

And she didn’t blame him for doing so, either, for she knew that all understood that Natblida were to be kept at arm’s length, were to be given distance and deference during their trials, and Lexa knew her clothes would mark her as different, she knew the black of the leathers and furs she wore would be a shining beacon to all that laid eyes upon her.

And most of all, she knew that the presence of personal guards would be enough to convince any that saw her and the others of just what they were.

But despite that, Lexa couldn’t help but to wonder what the man saw, what he thought as his eyes met hers for only a moment before he shifted his direction, hand flicking out behind him as he gestured for the young second in tow to follow him.

And so Lexa sighed just a little quietly as her gaze met the young second who looked back for only a moment, and Lexa knew she saw the barest flickers of an understanding smile play across the other girl’s lips as she hefted her own dead animal higher onto tired shoulders.

 

* * *

 

The fire crackled, embers drifted on the wind and the air bit into her face with little care for her comfort. Lexa shivered as she pulled the fur around her shoulders, she blinked back the sleep and she tried not to let her eyes close with each passing beat of her heart.

The quiet of the night had settled over the lands long ago, and as Lexa continued to sit on the tree’s branch she tried to stop her thoughts from drifting too far for her own good lest Anya sneak up on her in an attempt to catch her unawares, unfocused and distracted.

Lexa looked down into the forest floor once more as she checked on Gustus who slept seated against a large tree, his arms crossed over his chest, beard lifting slightly with each breath he took. Lexa saw Anya sleeping, too, the woman’s body laying on its side, a fur wrapped around her own shoulders, an arm tucked under her head as a hand clutched at a knife.

And Lexa never quite knew how long they would stay in the forests surrounding Polis, she never knew how many tests she would be faced with, how many she had failed and how many she had passed.

And she was no fool.

Not at her age.

Not when she had seen what had happened to the Heda before, not when she had watched with shallow breath as natblida fought natblida, as brother killed sister and sister killed brother.

And she knew Anya pushed her hard, that every blow across her face, every snarled threat and every cursed command was to instruct, was to train, to harden, to hone her into what would be a weapon to be wielded and a life to be served.

Lexa’s eyes began to close then, and she knew she should try to fight the sleep that tugged at her mind, she knew she should try to push it back until Anya woke with the sun’s rising.

But after all the times that she had been left on watch, Lexa knew Anya was happy to let her suffer the pains of each new day.

And Lexa knew she couldn’t be blamed for wanting to steal just a second’s rest.

But Lexa heard the quietest of creaks, she heard the faintest of rustling tree leaves.

And Lexa’s eyes snapped open, her gaze moved through the trees.

And she cursed under her breath, she couldn’t help but to start and she felt herself slip for only a second before she caught herself from falling.

“You,” Lexa said, her voice coming out a hiss and a whisper, gaze darting down to the forest floor for only a moment.

“Me,” the girl answered carefully, eyes shining in the moonlight, skin glowing a deep amber as the fire’s flames licked up into the night’s air.

Lexa’s hand fell to her knife then, and she took a moment to take in the girl who sat perched atop the same tree branch, and she remembered her from the day prior, from when she had carried her own animal, had even followed her own first through the forests.

“What do you want?” Lexa said, and she watched as the girl slipped a strand of dark and curly hair behind an ear, as she settled on the branch, legs dangling down on either side.

“I was curious,” the girl answered, and Lexa watched as the girl’s eyebrow raised for just a moment.

“Does your first know where you are?” Lexa asked, and she watched as the girl looked over her shoulder just once.

“No,” the girl said as she turned back to her.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed further then, and she found herself thinking the girl as one of Anya’s tricks, one of her tests, a game, a distraction for her to ignore.

And even if it weren’t so, Lexa knew she shouldn’t allow herself to be distracted and so she sighed heavily, she leant back against the tree’s trunk and she pulled her gaze from the girl and began looking out into the forest.

And Lexa wasn’t sure exactly how long the girl watched her, and it could have been moments or minutes or hours, but Lexa felt the girl’s thoughts begin to bubble up to the surface, she sensed the girl’s words beginning to form and she sensed the girl’s eagerness to voice whatever it was that lived at the tip of her tongue.

“You are a natblida,” and Lexa nodded despite her mind telling her to ignore the girl’s question.

“I am,” Lexa said as she pulled her gaze back to the girl.

“I am not supposed to talk to you,” and Lexa knew she saw the defiance in the girl’s gaze.

“You are not,” Lexa said, chin raising just a little.

“Your first?” and the girl gestured down to where Anya lay sleeping still.

“Anya,” Lexa said.

“I saw her prepare to attack when we approached,” the girl continued after a moment of quiet thought.

“She is prepared for a lot,” Lexa said, and she knew that despite Anya’s brashness, her anger, her violence, that she would jump to her defence given any provocation.

“My first didn’t notice you,” and Lexa saw the girl blush just a little. “We were talking but then he sensed your presence, but not until your first already had drawn weapon,” and Lexa couldn’t help but feel just a little smug at the fact that her first had bested another’s, even if it was only in awareness of the forest surrounding them.

Lexa found herself taking in the way the girl’s gaze moved slowly, and she wondered just a little about things she knew she shouldn’t, but her thoughts were pulled back to the present as the girl yawned, her fist coming to muffle the sound as she began to inch backwards on the tree’s branch as she glanced down to Anya and Gustus who still slept quietly below them.

“I should return to my first,” the girl whispered, eyes meeting Lexa’s once more. “Will you be in the forests long?”

And Lexa knew, too, that she should tell the girl to never return, to leave her be, that she did not wish to speak to her again.

And yet.

“I do not know,” Lexa answered, and she found herself wondering what would come next.

“Perhaps I will find you tomorrow night,” the girl said quietly as she looked up into the stars for a moment to gauge her place in the forests. “I do not like sitting watch, as you do not, it is boring,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to roll her eyes at the girl’s words.

“What makes you think that?” Lexa found herself challenging with a raised eyebrow.

“You were sleeping when I found you,” and it came out smug.

“I was not,” but she had been, at least a little.

And so the girl smiled just a bit as she swivelled on the branch, but she paused for a moment to glance over her shoulder.

“I am Costia.”

 

* * *

 

Ten days.

It had been ten days that Anya had chased her through the forests, had made her climb tree after tree, hunt animal after animal, and set camp after camp without help, without aid, without any instruction.

But as Lexa broke through the last of the trees, as she hitched the pelts higher onto her shoulder and as Anya and Gustus let out their own quiet sighs, Lexa knew them both to be happy that they would soon find the comfort of a soft bed, of warm furs and a hot flame that didn’t die with each gust of wind.

But yet, Lexa also found herself feeling pride, feeling eagerness to reveal to the others just how many pelts she had earned, had taken, had hunted and prepared as carefully as she could.

“Remove that smile from your face,” and Lexa stumbled forward as she felt Anya push her in the back.

“Yes, Anya,” Lexa grunted out as she caught herself, hand quick to tighten around the pelts lest they fall to the ground and dirty.

And as Lexa turned her gaze forward, as she saw the shimmering of Polis begin to rise up in the distance, she couldn’t quite find it in herself to feel anything other than a longing for sleep, for rest, and for the comfort of a bed.

 

* * *

 

Lexa ran hard, she ran fast, her eyes snapping to every movement through the forest, gaze looking for any sign of life. She heard the rustle in the trees, too, and she knew Anya to be overhead, she knew the woman to be keeping watch carefully, to be watching every movement and decision she made.

But after all these times, Lexa didn’t quite feel the dread, the annoyance, the worry at failing.

And so she smiled as her gaze found what she searched for, and so she dove to the ground as an arrow snapped over her head before thumping into a tree in the distance.

But Lexa saw where the arrow had come from, she even heard the muffled curse, the crunch of stick and leaf underfoot and even the heavy breathing of those who gave chase.

Lexa didn’t care though, and so she found herself rolling to her feet with hardly a break in her step before she ducked under a low hanging branch before once more diving to the ground.

And silence settled over the forest, those who gave chase quieting in their pursuit. Lexa looked up just once to see the tree branches overhead rustle imperceptibly, but she discarded the fact that Anya watched once more.

Lexa drew her knife then, the point glinting in the light.

And she waited.

She waited for a long moment, and she waited for the others to break first, and she reached down, fingers careful as they found a stick. And she raised it, took aim somewhere in the distance and threw the stick outwards only for it to rattle against a branch and tumble to the forest floor with a snap.

And she smiled.

She saw the rustle of a bush in the distance, she saw the faintest wisps of a person’s hair shift and she saw other shadows that began to bleed out from the darkness as they crept forward.

Lexa moved.

She moved fast, her motions careful and steady and sure, hardly a sound giving way to each step she took.

The first person she saw was a man, his gaze moving slowly, surely, eyes trying to find her, but she knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t hear or see her before it was too late.

And so she waited for just another moment before darting out from where she had hidden herself, and her knife sliced out with a hiss of air only to stop a hairs breadth from his throat, his eyes widening in shock and fright as he came to a stop.

And Lexa watched for only another second before he nodded without a word and came to sit where he had stood, the knife held to his throat the sign that she had taken her forth life in this test.

Lexa sensed the other presence settle by her side and she nodded as her gaze met Luna’s, the other girl’s spear held in hand as she lifted a finger.

“I killed another,” Luna said quietly, voice barely a whisper.

“There are two left,” Lexa answered as she looked out into the forest, gaze trying to find movement again.

“One for each, then,” Luna said with little more than a nodded confirmation before she slipped away.

And so Lexa looked just once to the man who sat on the ground, his own eyes looking out as he searched for the others.

Lexa took a second to look around herself then, and she knew finding her target wouldn’t be so easy anymore, she knew she had lost where exactly the last of those who gave chase would be.

But she also knew it to be a risk in exposing herself, she knew it to be a risk of making such an obvious move.

But, perhaps above all, she thought she knew who was left, and so she looked to the nearest tree, she glanced up its trunk, she eyed which branches to take.

And she leapt from where she crouched.

Lexa’s legs sprung her forward with an explosion of power, her hand reached up and she took hold of the lowest branch as she let momentum carry her upwards with each pull of an arm and each jumping push of her legs.

And it took her only a few short seconds before she found herself perched high in the tree, her eyes scanning the forest floor below.

Lexa couldn’t help but to look up to find Anya perched on her own branch not too far away, the woman’s gaze hard as they both shared a look.

Lexa knew though that Luna would find her own target soon, that she would probably draw out the last, and so Lexa waited. But she only needed to wait a few short moments more as she heard the rustle, the quiet clink of weapon slamming against armoured leather and then she saw the barest movements of bush as the last of her targets broke from cover and away from where Luna had made her last kill.

And Lexa smiled.

She began following the trail, the slightest rustle of bush, of branch and leaf, and she knew the other person now sensed the pursuit, now sensed the closeness of a predator, but Lexa knew she had the advantage and so her worry seemed less concerned, less anxious.

If only because she worried not about her own skills, her own actions, and she didn’t quite think she worried too strongly about what Anya would think, or at least not so much unless she failed.

And so Lexa paused for a moment mid branch, eyes trained onto the forest floor below, and she knew she saw the person’s hair break free from where they lay in the ground, and she could tell from the quick movement of shoulders that this person must have been out of breath, tired and desperate in their game of cat and mouse.

But Lexa knew any concern would have to wait.

And so she waited for just another moment as she made sure the person wouldn’t move.

And then she dropped.

Lexa dropped hard, she dropped fast, her furs muffled the sound of her slipping past branch and leaf, her leathers took the brunt of any small branches that struck her body and her eyes snapped to every movement below her as gravity took hold.

But the person below must have sensed, must have heard something because they dove out of the way, they rolled and they flung mud and dirt and stick up behind them before coming to their feet.

But after all these times Lexa had come to expect that, and so she shielded her eyes with a swipe of her arm as she landed on the ground with her own roll.

She found her feet then, she saw the foot come out to catch her midriff, a studded boot all she had the time to take in before she moved backwards, her arm coming out quickly as she slammed down on the person’s thigh with the heel of her hand.

But a fist came next, this one aimed at her throat, but this, too, Lexa saw coming and so she twisted her body just enough that the person’s knuckles brushed her neck before she slammed her hand up from under the person’s arm and bloodied an exposed nose.

The gagging curse and staggered step was all Lexa needed and so she snapped forward, her foot kicked out the person’s legs and she gripped a limp wrist as she threw them over her shoulder.

And so Lexa smiled victoriously as she came to sit over the wounded warrior whose eyes watered to the pain in her nose, and whose chest heaved against the legs that straddled her chest.

And so, too, did Lexa find her own heart strumming against her ribs as she pulled out her knife and let it rest against the rapid beat of the pulse she paid too much attention to beating against the warrior’s neck.

“I win,” Lexa said, her voice loud enough that the woman below her heard, soft enough that it didn’t carry too far. “Yield.”

And so Costia smiled just a little as she tried fighting down the heaviness of her own breathing.

“I yield.”


	12. Chapter 12

Lexa took in a deep breath, her eyes squinting past the sun’s light as it shone through the clearing, and she tried to ignore the burning of her eyes, the aches in her bones and the frustrations growing in her mind.

She wasn’t sure how long she held the arrow’s fletching against her lips. All she knew was that her arm had begun to shake and tremble long ago, that the sweat had begun to sting her eyes and that her sight had already begun to waver.

She heard another snap of a bow then, and she glanced to her right to see another nightblood curse out quietly as their hold on the bow slipped sending the arrow forward haphazardly towards the target.

But Lexa also saw the other nightbloods who were left, who had been able to hold the drawn bow for as long as she had, and she saw those that were now forced to stand and watch, their own punishment soon to come.

And perhaps, if just for a second, Lexa hoped she would be able to hold out longer than Luna, whose wild and curly hair seemed to halo her face, and whose eyes shone brightly in the morning light and whose arm barely shook to the strain Lexa knew her to be feeling.

 

* * *

 

The ground slammed into her back, her lungs gasped and her muscles ached, but Lexa rolled with the throw, she slid onto her knees and she brought her sword before her as she anticipated the spear’s thrust.

Metal against metal rang out around her, her palms stung to the blow and sweat burnt into the corners of her eyes, but she threw her bodily discomforts aside as she moved fast, as she moved easily, with a familiarity and a comfort that seemed too easy for her to slip into.

And so Lexa ducked under the arcing swing of the spear, its barely blunted tip only just passing her throat, and she saw her opening, she saw the falter in step and so she lunged forward.

Lexa’s fist slammed down on top of a sweaty hand, her strike throwing off the counter attack easily, and at the same time Lexa spun, she ducked and she swept her leg out fast enough to catch her opponent off-guard.

And Lexa came to stand, a barely concealed smirk pulling at her lips as she looked down at the warrior on his back, the man’s chest rising heavily, his spear thrown to the side.

The clanging of others continued to echo out around them both, the other nightbloods in training moving against their own opponents, each one facing a new weapon, a different style and a foreign attack with each day.

Others, too, train nearby, those supposed to take the place of the fallen guards, the firsts who would one day train and serve newer generations of nightbloods until their conclave.

Lexa took a moment to look out around herself, and she saw Luna spin away from a thumping strike of a war hammer, its head throwing clumps of dirt and rock and mud in every direction as Luna’s opponent swung it in long arcs, in heavy thrusts, but as Lexa continued to watch she knew Luna had learnt the woman’s pattern, had come to anticipate, come to memorise the way a tired arm would falter for barely a second, and so Lexa’s gaze moved from Luna and to the other nightbloods.

She saw Luna’s brother struggle against his own opponent, blackened blood already dripping from an open wound upon his lip, and she saw the other nightbloods, some older than her, some younger, all showing sigs of fatigue, of aches and pains that had become a constant companion to them.

And as she looked past them she also saw the other warriors training, she saw the drills they practised and memorised, each motion and step and action aimed at protecting another, at recognise hidden danger and fending off surprise attacks from afar and from close.

Lexa’s gaze fell to a familiar set of wild curls then, and she knew her lips twitched just a little too openly as she saw Costia’s eyes flash across the distance, the woman reacting to a surprise lunge from an older warrior, the man’s body having suddenly broken from a group of others who walked past in yet another mock assassination attempt.

And the man was large, he was fast, his arm held the scars of many blades that had tried to find place in his body, or in that of another he stood in front of, but Lexa saw Costia’s confidence, she saw the eagerness, the thrill and the excitement flash across a sweaty face.

And so Lexa continued to watch for a moment longer as Costia darted forward, as she leapt and slammed her knee into the man’s chest before her legs came to strap around the man’s shoulders and neck, and Lexa enjoyed the way Costia’s body moved with the momentum, how it seemed to absorb the impact, and how she threw her own torso forward in a twisting motion as the man toppled backwards.

And a palm slapped the back of Lexa’s head causing her to trip and reach out to break her fall. And so she reached up and grimaced as she turned and came face to face with Anya who stared down at her.

“Do not let yourself be distracted,” Anya said, and Lexa’s gaze fell to the two daggers in the woman’s hands.

“I was not,” and Lexa grit her teeth as she anticipated the cuts to her hands Anya would inflict upon.

“You were not distracted?” Anya snorted, her own gaze shifting towards Costia for just a moment.

“No,” and Lexa came to her feet as she squared off in front of the older woman.

“You do yourself no good lying to me,” Anya said simply, and Lexa sighed just a little tiredly as Anya began to stalk forward, daggers already beginning to move in slow and steady and even arcs through the air.

 

* * *

 

Heda Jaxton was a man of few words, of quiet glances and iron gazes that made Lexa’s skin prickle with a discomfort that she was sure was purposeful. From where she stood against the wall in the throne room she could see that Jaxton’s temper was rising slowly, his annoyance at the ambassador before him increasing with each word that was uttered.

And yet, Lexa knew, too, that none of the ambassadors present could quite tell how much anger was being caused, how much annoyance was building behind his careful facade.

“Enough,” and Jaxton’s hand rose as he lifted his chin, his eyes hard in the candle light as he leant back in his chair.

“Heda,” and the ambassador bowed her head as she stepped backwards.

“Azgeda,” and Jaxton motioned for the Azgeda ambassador to come forward. “What say you?”

And Lexa’s gaze moved to the Azgeda ambassador to see the man think for only a moment before levelling a finger at the Lake Clan’s ambassador, anger clear in his eyes.

“They encroach too far into our waters, Heda,” and Lexa knew Jaxton hid the rolling of eyes behind an iron facade. “You would do well to ensure your clans do not encroach too far into our territory and those not aligned with you.”

“Lake Clan disputes these claims,” another ambassador said, the man rising to his feet. “Those are bandits, people not of our clan.”

“Then we will kill them,” the Azgeda ambassador snarled. “If they do not belong to your clan then you will not miss their presen—”

“Enough,” and Jaxton’s voice rang out clearly.

And Lexa found herself looking from ambassador to ambassador who sat before her, each one’s own gaze shifting from friendly clan to enemy clan, hatreds and angers and frustrations and satisfactions gracing face after face.

“We will continue negotiations tomorrow,” Jaxton said and Lexa looked to her side to see the other nightbloods who lined up beside her, some younger, some older, each one taking in every little happening that occurred before them. “Nightbloods, you are dismissed, too,” and Lexa looked once to Jaxton before her eyes found Luna still eyeing the last of the ambassadors to leave the throne room.

Luna met her gaze then, and Lexa saw the faintest ticks of a smile on her lips before the other girl turned to her brother as they began to exit the throne room.

Lexa followed with the rest of the nightbloods, all nine of them clad in black leathers and furs, small knives and personal weapons tucked into belts, each one sporting bruises and cuts across arms and faces and torsos and legs, signs of the training and the violence that dominated their lives.

But as Lexa slipped through the doors of the throne room she found Trikru and Plains Riders gathered outside, warriors and their seconds lining the walls and gathered in small groups as they whispered words back and forth, and as Lexa passed, she found herself hiding a smile behind steady eyes as she saw Costia standing beside her own first.

And Lexa knew enough not to linger, not to steal too much time for herself, and so she let just the smallest signs of acknowledgement flash across her face as Costia smiled at her before a Plains Rider warrior moved between them, the woman only just a little older, yet her face showed signs of weary, of battle and fatigue from days of riding.

Lexa let her gaze move across the woman’s face, to the tattoos that dotted from her lower lip and down her chin and to the many locks of dreaded hair that twisted and turned and braided down her shoulders.

“Nightblood,” the woman said as she bowed her head for a step as their gazes met before she slipped past and began to enter the throne room with the others, and Lexa found herself returning the gesture with her own lifting of a chin and steeling of gaze.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s thoughts moved slowly through her mind, each image that seemed to flash before her mind’s eye only lingering enough that she could sense its presence before it faded. The cold seemed to echo out around her, too, its chill a piercing bite that bit into her flesh and made her shiver to each little whistle of wind that managed to snake its way through the halls of Polis tower.

Her eyes opened to the dark of the night and to the quite of the healer’s quarters. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and why she found herself lying in an all too familiar cot, but the pain returned as easily as it pleased.

And Lexa had fallen from her horse, she had slipped and crashed to the forest floor as she gave chase to her prey through the forests surrounding Polis, and the pain had been intense, it had been sharp, it had been familiar and constant and ever present.

And she hadn’t let out a cry when she had fallen, she had barely voiced a sound as she had felt her shoulder dislocate, as she had felt it slide from its socket. But she had known her recovery would be time consuming, would be too slow for her comfort, and she knew, too, that her days of missed training would be lost to the passing of time.

And so she pushed herself up into a sitting position, her arm held close to her chest as she grit her teeth and clenched her jaw to the stiff ache that lingered.

It was dark, too, the moon barely finding purchase within the confines of the healer’s room, its interior large and filled with the scents of pastes, of ointments and medicines that would stave off death for as long as their fight lasted.

Other cots and beds lined the walls of the room, most often occupied by others, but for this night, Lexa found herself alone.

And so she sighed, she let her breath fill her lungs and she held it for a long moment as she took the time to register what she thought would come to be in the days to come.

Heda Jaxton had left for Trikru lands not three days ago, reports of reapers, of Mountain Men and acid fog ravaging the lands becoming far too common now, and Lexa had heard the whisperings of the ambassadors aligned with the Flame, she had heard them whisper of the Mountains watchful eye, that it had become nervous that the forest clans were slowly forming alliances in the hope that their combined strength would be enough to hold back the ever constant take of the Mountain’s destruction.

But so too had Lexa heard of the other clans that had refused to form alliances, that had seen the Mountain’s activities as a blessing, as a means for them to wage war without the loss of their own warriors, where the Mountain would fight, would decimate and conquer the clans for them.

And at the centre of those whisperings? Azgeda.

Lexa knew that the Kwin of Azgeda was cunning, she knew her to be patient when required, swift to action when needed, and eager for violence and power when wanted.

And so it didn’t surprise Lexa when she had heard that Lake Clan had lost a border village to the Azgeda warriors who had roared through the frozen valley, it didn’t surprise her when the Lake Clan had retaliated with their own might, their own warriors and their own destructions.

But perhaps the thing that Lexa couldn’t quite grasp was Heda Jaxton’s decision to strike out at the Mountain with only four clans at his back, with Azgeda making noise to the north, and to the other clans whose support and backing wasn’t codified in treaty and bound by blood.

And yet, Lexa knew it to never be that simple, never to be that easy, never to be that obv—

“You think too much,” and Lexa startled to the quiet of the sound, to the presence she was sure she should have sensed, to the proximity she should have felt.

“Costia?” and Lexa blinked through the dark of the healer’s room until she found the source of the noise.

“Here,” and Lexa turned to her left to find Costia lying on her side in the cot beside her, the other woman’s skin glowing faintly in the barest of moonlight.

“You are hurt,” Lexa said simply, her gaze falling to a sliver of a cut she saw rising up from Costia’s collar.

“Training,” she replied, and Lexa watched as she shrugged and huffed at a strand of hair that clung to her nose.

“When?” and Lexa found herself trying to count back the day she had been in the healer’s room.

“Not long ago,” Costia answered, and Lexa watched as she looked away, frowned and thought over something before discarding it with a shake of her head. “We were training in the dark and I did not see the knife before it cut me,” Costia said, and Lexa grimaced a little at the thought of a knife sinking into Costia’s flesh.

“Did it hur—”

“No,” and Costia smiled as she tucked a hand under her head. “It did not,” and Lexa felt Costia’s gaze move across her own body, to her arm that remained held to her chest.

“Mine does not hurt, either,” Lexa said, and she sat back carefully, the wince falling from her lips barely audible in the quiet that she found had settled around them both.

They both settled into that quiet then, and Lexa found her gaze turned upwards and to the ceiling, to the weathered patterns in the stone overheard that she could only just make out, and she let her mind turn over whatever thoughts seemed to take residence within her mind.

And she knew her heart beat just a little too quickly for the situation she found herself in, and if she was truthful with herself she knew it to be because of Costia. But so too did Lexa know that her thoughts were a secret to be guarded, were a truth to be held behind closed doors, and she knew they were to be kept hidden for letting such a truth out would bring with it dangers and punishments and disapproval and mistakes.

But not because it was shunned, not because it was forbidden, but simply because to be commander was to be lone. To serve her people, to fight for her people and to die for her people should she succeed in being chosen by the flame.

And so Lexa sighed, she let her eyes close and she tried to ignore the heavy weight of the thoughts in her mind, and the steady pressure of Costia’s gaze that she could feel peering at her through the dark.

And yet?

“I missed you at training,” Costia said, and the admission Lexa heard surprised her, it made her lips pull at the corners and it made her mind begin to swirl ever so slowly.

And so she opened her eyes and rolled herself onto her side as she came face to face with Costia who had seemed to move ever so slightly closer in her own cot.

And maybe the truth of Costia’s words wasn’t something to be fearful of, not when Lexa found herself smiling a little too widely, and not when she found her heart beating all too strongly within her chest.

 

* * *

 

“Plains Riders are willing to trade more horses in exchange for double the amount of grains,” and Lexa’s eyes narrowed just a fraction at the costly increase demanded, and she knew from the way Jaxton’s eyes narrowed, from the way his fingers faltered just a step in their tapping that the demand had taken even him by surprise.

“That is not acceptable,” and Lexa’s gaze moved to Titus who stepped forward, his own gaze hard.

“It is,” and the dread locked woman stood her ground as Titus came to stand before her.

“Explain,” Titus said, his voice low, but Lexa’s gaze snapped to Jaxton who remained seated in his throne, his eyes moving from Plains Rider warrior to Trikru guard and to nightblood that stood present within the throne room.

“Plains Riders are not aligned with your Coalition,” the woman said, and Lexa watched as the woman lifted her chin. “We do not owe you anything, nor do we wish to be a target for the Mountain’s destruction,” and Lexa felt Luna bristle from where she stood beside her. “But we do not wish for your lands to fall to the Mountain, we do not wish for your lands to be overrun with reaper and acid fog,” and the woman jerked her chin outwards, “we are no fools, if you fall, the other clans will fall, too,” and Lexa thought the woman’s words made sense.

“And?” Titus questioned.

“And so we will not commit warriors to your war,” the woman continued. “But we will offer war horses to replenish those you lose to the reapers and to the acid fog,” she continued.

“How does that warrant a doubling of our trade,” Titus said, his eyes burning a little more firmly in the candle light.

“If Azgeda deems our actions as hostile,” and Lexa’s own eyes rolled at that, for every nightblood and resident of Polis knew that Azgeda would deem any clan helping another as a hostile action. “They will try to starve us out, they will try to cut us off from the most bountiful of lands that border both our clans,” and the woman shrugged. “Trikru grain will supplement any losses we may receive,” and Lexa watched as Titus thought over her words, as he considered her offer.

“That is not the only reason,” and Jaxton’s voice came out low and weary and cold to Lexa’s ears.

“I do not follow, Heda,” and the woman bowed her head as Titus took a step back until he stood beside Jaxton’s throne.

“You wage a secret war with Azgeda, do you not?” and Lexa’s gaze snapped back to the woman to see her eyes harden, her jaw clench.

“We do no such thing,” and Lexa couldn’t help but admire the woman’s mettle, her confidence despite the youth that clung to her face.

“You do,” Jaxton replied. “You do so in retaliation for Azgeda’s actions against Lake Clan, in which their actions cost you the loss of trade between your clan and that of the Lake,” and Jaxton leant forward a little. “If you are to commit to trade more war horses then you must need something significant to offset such a loss,” and Lexa’s lips twitched up just a little at the way the woman looked away, “And double the grain would allow your warrior to spend less time providing food for your people and more time antagonising and attacking Azgeda outposts.”

The woman remained quiet for another moment, and Lexa could read the uncertainty in her demeanour, in the way her stance changed and in the way she turned away from Jaxton ever so slightly.

But perhaps Lexa liked that about the woman, perhaps she liked the way she seemed more open, more truthful, less prone to backstabbing and constant lying that Lexa had come to recognise so easily amongst clan ambassadors.

“You do not need to admit or deny any of what I have said,” Jaxton continued. “You will have your grain,” and Jaxton paused in thought for a moment, and Lexa watched as the woman took in his words and let out a steady breath.

“You will have your war horses delivered before the next full moon,” the woman answered, and Lexa’s gaze moved back to Titus to see the man’s hands folded before him, habitual frown in place as his robes flickered to the firelight of a candle nearby.

“Good,” Jaxton replied, and the woman seemed to recognise the dismissal in his voice, and so she took one last bow as the other Plains Riders began to make their leave.

“We wish you success in your coming fight, Heda Jaxton,” the woman said in farewell, gaze meeting Jaxton’s for a quick moment.

And so Jaxton replied with his own farewell.

“Safe travels to you, Tenebediah.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s eyes opened to the darkest of the night, when the moon hang high in the sky and where the birds that that drifted on the wind seemed as deep asleep as the people of Polis city.

It took her only a moment before her mind settled and her thoughts coalesced into wakefulness and then Lexa sat with an ease and a practiced motion that had already begun to settle into her bones.

The cold of the stone met her feet with a little prickle that sent shivers across her flesh, but Lexa ignored the discomfort as she pulled the heavy furs from her shoulders and came to stand in the centre of her small room.

She took a moment to orient herself before she slipped her sleep clothes from her body before tucking them under her bed furs, her pillows and loose bedding bundled into the rough outline of a sleeping body.

Not for the first time Lexa found herself peering down at her body though, and she let her gaze wander over every little cut and scrape and scar and bruise that littered her flesh. And some of her wounds were larger, were fresher, more sever than others, some were the barest slivers of a cut across her flesh and some still were simply the mark of a life familiar with the constant aches and pains of life as a nightblood.

Her underclothes came first, the fabric rough and worn, soft and supple. Her chest binding came next, and she found herself falling into the familiar pattern of wrapping it around her chest, the thicker, rougher, harder material and the crisscross pattern she wove equals parts support and padding and protection, and though she had never experienced it first hand, she had seen the scars that littered Jaxton’s body, that had left his face disfigured, a knife aimed at his throat merely slicing up the right side of his face. And Lexa knew that whatever life awaited her would be fraught with danger.

And so she let her gaze fall to the small mirror atop the table in the corner of her room, and she took a moment to take in the reflection she saw, the youth that still clung to a weary face and to the years of pain and waiting that she had been dealt.

But for now her mind wished to take her someplace else, and so she donned the rest of her clothes with quick movements, the black of her leathers and furs quick to slip over her body. And just before she slipped out of her room she let her hand fall to her belt, to the knife that had come to be a constant companion against her hip and she smiled.

 

* * *

 

The halls of Polis tower were never quite empty at this hour, but after all the times Lexa had crept down dark and quiet hall she knew the pattern the guards walked, she knew the eyes that would watch from the shadows, that were to protect and to guard and to keep vigil for the nightbloods that should have been sleeping.

And so Lexa paused for a moment in the shadow cast by a lonely statue and she let her breaths ease into stillness and her body bleed into silence as the footsteps that echoed out around her lessened with each small step.

She waited for just another moment then, for long enough that she was sure any sound she made wouldn’t be heard and then she darted forward, her eyes peering left and right as she made her move to the large window, one of many that littered the walls of Polis tower.

She smiled as she came to its edge, and she spared only one last glance over her shoulder before she pulled herself out and through the opening, the cold of the night and the depths of Polis below all to keep her company.

And she knew the words Anya would say, she knew the anger and fury the woman would release if she were to ever find out, but yet, Lexa couldn’t quite deny that part of that risk was as much a reward as it was punishment in waiting.

And so she grit her teeth, she steadied her breath, and she let her memory take her down the side of Polis tower and to the streets below.

 

* * *

 

The forests surrounding Polis had always drawn Lexa to them, they had always made her dream of things far larger than herself, had always made her wonder what more was waiting for her, what things would lie in wait, and so she smiled as she continued stalking forward quietly, her thoughts the only thing to keep her company through the dark of the forest.

But she knew the way well by now, and so she smiled as she came to a broad tree trunk, its bark roughened from years of use, its handholds well carved, well smoothed.

Lexa looked up, she squinted through what little moonlight dappled down through the branches overhead and she was sure she sensed what awaited her.

And so she began to climb with an ease and a want, and it didn’t take her long, it didn’t take her much effort before she found herself in the highest reaches of the tree, where mighty branch only just began to turn into swaying stick, but Lexa smiled, she let her eyes bring a glint to her vision and she let herself settle fully on a branch as she came face to face with an expectant glare, a raised eyebrow and a careful quirking of a lip.

“You are late,” Costia whispered, and Lexa heard the faintest hints of jest in the words.

“Sorry,” Lexa found herself whispering, and she didn’t quite mind that she apologised, she didn’t quite mind that she found herself to blame.

If only because she thought these moments she stole were important, she thought these moments defining, too fleeting and too infrequent for her to do anything more than appreciate what she had.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s chest rose steadily, her breath came out just a little too rapidly and she knew she had left it almost too late to return before the morning bell sounded, but as she snuck past one last tired guard she couldn’t find it in herself to care quite so much.

And so she paused for just a moment as she looked down the nightblood’s hallway, she waited for the last guard to slip around the corner and then she darted forward, feet barely audible as she skipped over weather stone.

She came to her door in barely five strides, eyes quick to glance behind her once more as she slipped inside and closed the door behind her with the quietest of thuds.

And this too had always been a thrill, had always been a forbidden thing she found herself enjoying, and so she let her eyes close and she let her lips twitch up at the corners as she leant back against the door and let her breaths even out and slow, mind already slowing for what little sleep she could take before the coming day.

“Lexa.”

And her blood froze, her eyes snapped open and she felt her mouth go dry as she heard heard the ice in the voice, as she heard the anger, the quiet seething rage and the disappointment.

“Anya,” and Lexa took in the woman who sat on her bed, on the way her eyes shone brilliantly in the dark of her room, and the way her clothes seemed to hug her body and keep her coiled anger and strength only just contained.

And perhaps Lexa should have known sometime soon Anya would have found out, would have discovered, would have known.

And so Anya rose from the bed, her arms crossing over her chest as she began to stalk forward, her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring as she came closer, step by step.

“Where were you?” and the words came out quiet, they came out too simple, too easy upon her lips.

“Nowhere,” but Lexa knew Anya didn’t believe her.

And Anya took a moment to consider something, and as Lexa watched, she was sure the older woman’s mind turned over punishments, turned over beatings and any other form of lessons she could enact. And Lexa expected the back of a hand, she expect a closed fist, a furious seething tirade.

And so it surprised her when Anya simply stopped where she stood in the centre of the small room, her eyes turning forlorn, sad and just a little accepting.

“Come,” Anya said simply as she turned and retread the steps she had taken until she came to sit on Lexa’s bed.

And Anya’s actions weren’t expected, weren’t ever expected, and so Lexa found her step falter as she took in the way Anya sat on the edge of the bed, as the older woman took in what stood before her with a sadness Lexa didn’t quite enjoy seeing upon her face.

“Come,” and Anya let her hand fall to a place beside her, fingers splayed out as she smoothed the furs atop Lexa’s bed.

And so Lexa found herself stepping forward cautiously, eyes meeting Anya’s for barely a second before looking away from the emotions she saw.

And Anya waited until she had come to sit beside her, until she had come to settle for whatever came next, but yet, Anya’s tone surprised Lexa even further as the woman let out a steady breath.

“You were with Costia,” Anya said quietly, and Lexa knew Anya need not hear an answer. “How long have you been doing this?”

And Lexa shrugged, she looked away and she wondered what to say.

“Long enough,” Lexa said, and she found her hand falling to the knife atop her hip, to the roughened wood handle.

And Anya sighed once more, the woman’s breath coming out just a little shaky.

“I understand,” Lexa said after a moment, and she found herself looking at the older woman, at the braids that framed her face, that painted a fierce picture when her eyes were smeared with the black of warpaint.

“You do?” Anya questioned, eyebrow raising as she turned to face her.

“To be Commander is to be alone,” and Lexa shrugged as she turned from Anya and stared into the sliver of light that crept in from under her door. “I understand that my actions jeopardise more than just my life, but the lives of those who I may one day lead for as long as my fight allows,” and Lexa found herself thinking of the years she had spent listening to Titus and his teachings, to the years she had spent training to best foe larger than her, faster than her, stronger and more terrifying than her.

And she found herself thinking of the scars she saw upon Jaxton’s body, of the times when knew ones would appear, some from battle, many simply appearing in the morning, whose wounds were close enough to have taken life, but were too slow to cease the pumping of his blood through his veins.

“How long has Heda Jaxton served as Commander,” Anya said simply, and Lexa looked up as she thought over what the woman asked.

“Almost six years,” and Lexa frowned as she thought over where the conversation went.

“And how old is Heda Jaxton?” Anya asked, and Lexa found herself wondering that too, and she tried to count back the days, the weeks, the years and seasons and passings of time.

“Twenty-three?” Lexa asked carefully.

“Twenty-One,” Anya corrected.

And perhaps Lexa understood, perhaps she recognised what Anya spoke of.

Or perhaps she didn’t because Anya’s hand closed over hers for a lone moment, the fingers warm and careful as they gripped hers.

“Until death,” and Anya’s voice came out quietly, “to be Commander is to be alone,” and Lexa looked away and into the darkest corners of her room as she tried not to let whatever thoughts and feelings she found within her mind take hold. “Until the Commander joins those before him or her as they guide the next Commander,” Anya continued. “Heda Jaxton will not live forever, Lexa,” and Anya’s fingers squeezed just once more before she let go. “You must be prepared for it when the time comes. Do not let yourself be distracted.”

And Lexa didn’t quite know if mentor and student had ever spoken of the conclave so openly before, and it wasn’t that she had never thought, had never anticipated and worried for the lives of her and her fellow nightbloods, but perhaps, as she took the time to think of Anya’s words, she had never quite considered the realities of war, of the role of the Commander and of what it meant to one day have to be prepared to kill those she grew up amongst.

“It is good that you make these mistakes now, Lexa,” Anya continued. “Let this die before it becomes more than a childish longing for something you can not have,” and Lexa found herself gritting her teeth as Anya’s words began to take hold in her mind. “This mistake will not cost you your life now,” and Anya stood, her gaze slowly hardening, slowly turning into the warrior’s gaze Lexa had grown so familiar with. “But do not give it the chance to do so when you are older. When a mistake will cost more than just your life.”


	13. Chapter 13

Lexa woke to the cold creep of a winter morning. The air prickled at her exposed flesh and she found her shoulder aching to the bone as a long forgotten injury found itself waking with her.

She paused for long enough that the sleep cleared from her mind and for long enough that the blood began to flow through her body. But it was only a short moment.

And so she rose, she sat in her small bed and she let the roughened furs fall from her shoulders to pool at her waist as she rubbed away the tired from her eyes.

The sun still hid below the horizon, her small quarters in Polis tower still quiet, still content to hold onto the sleep that filtered through the tall building.

But Lexa pulled her feet over the edge of her bed and she sighed a gentle curse as the cold once more bit into her flesh.

But still, she ignored what small discomforts she found greeting her as she came to stand as the dark gave way to her body, her movements silent and familiar.

It didn’t take Lexa long before she began to pull her leathers and furs on, each layer a shield to the elements, a brace to her aching body and a companion to her mind.

And it was only the shortest of moments before Lexa came to sit before the small mirror laid out atop her desk, and she took a moment to study the woman who stared back, whose face seemed less round, less youthful, less familiar to her with each passing day.

She tried to remember the days she had spent living in Polis then, she turned back the days, the nights, the weeks and months and years and she found the barest flicker of an emotion pool at the corners of her mind as she found herself realising that more than half of her life had been spent waking to an early morning only to endure pain and aches and fear and anger day after day.

But, despite those thoughts, despite those sadnesses, she found a glimmer of a smile coming to twitch at the corners of her lips as he let her memories take her to the happy times, the ones spent in quiet company, in the warmth of too close proximity and to the rush of breathless breath and uncertain touches.

And so she let those thoughts linger much like she allowed sleep to pull at her for just a second longer before she would rise.

Lexa always found that those small moments seemed too fleeting for her to truly enjoy, but she also knew her responsibilities and so she let her fingers dip into the cool paste in the jar, and, as her eyes closed, she let her mind trace the patterns across her cheeks, she let her fingers follow the known path across her flesh, and she let the dark of the warpaint still her thoughts and take control of whatever actions she would have to take in the days to come.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s steps echoed out through Polis tower, her boots heavy, her dark leathers warm, and the knives that strapped her body barely a thought as she passed ever constant guard and early servant as she continued to wind her way down and down and down through the stone halls.

Her journey came to an end as she turned one last corner and came to stand before the large open doors of Polis tower’s main entrance, the morning now just a little lighter from what she could see of the outside world.

Warriors gathered outside, too, each one a familiar face to Lexa, some older, some already battle weary, hardened to the ground and to war and to death, some younger, some eager and keen for blood, some even young seconds, whose lives would and could be changed with the simplest of commands she would come to give.

Lexa continued to walk forward, her gaze hardening to the blankness she knew others expected to see upon Heda Jaxton’s face as much as hers. Noise caught her attention though, and Lexa glanced outwards and down the main road of that led from Polis tower to the stables and she saw Luna already atop her own horse, the other woman’s hair pulled back into a might braid, a spear clasped in her hands and her own war party already beginning to ride out.

“Lexa,” and she turned to find Anya walking up to her, the older woman’s eyes glinting with a careful eagerness Lexa recognised well.

“Anya,” Lexa answered, her chin lifting in greeting.

“We are ready to begin,” and Anya gestured behind her and to the warriors beginning to mount horse, beginning to ready weapons.

“Good,” and Lexa nodded a thankful gesture to a young second who handed her the reins of a horse. “We move,” and Lexa made sure her voice carried out to the warriors around her.

Lexa let her gaze meet each warrior with her though, and she found her eyes glinting with recognition as each one she saw bowed their heads briefly, aseach one seemed content that she had been chosen to lead them into whatever small skirmish was to come, but above all, she found the faintest of smiles beginning to find its way to the corners of her eyes as she shared a too long moment with Costia who sat atop her own horse, whose face was already smeared in the dark of warpaint, and whose leathers and furs wrapped her body and made her seem every bit the warrior Lexa knew her to be.

And so she pulled herself onto her horse, she let the reins bite into her palms and she let her breathing steady and even out further as she turned to whatever would come to face her in the days soon to be.

 

* * *

 

The lands flashed past her in a blur of greens and browns and greys, the sun hung high in the sky and the wind that billowed through her hair seemed to break against her face with a familiarity she hadn’t felt in years.

She had noticed the trees had begun to grow larger the further she travelled, too, each one seemingly reaching up higher and higher into the sky with each passing second. The forest, too, seemed grander than what it had been in the surrounding Polis. And Lexa knew it to be because they had truly entered Trikru territory, they had truly descended into the depths of the forests.

But, entering the heart of Trikru lands also brought with it the sense of dread and oppression that Lexa had come to recognise as the Mountain’s shadow that seemed to filter through the trees around her, through the blades of grass, the bushes and even the dirt and stick and rock and mud that littered the forest floor.

She sensed the way the warriors behind her seemed to become more alert with each passing second, too, she even felt Anya and Gustus guide their horses just a little closer to hers as they continued to wind through the trees towards their journey’s end.

And Lexa knew that worry for worry’s sake was pointless, and so she let her mind focus to the trees that flit past, to the sounds of the birds and the animals that seemed to recoil from the warriors that moved through the trees, and she let her mind settle into a quiet comfort for however long she could steal.

 

* * *

 

Lexa had only the faintest of memories of the woman who stood opposite her, whose face had been years younger, had been happier, less burdened, less scarred and weary to the world. But now, as Indra continued to outline where the reapers had last been seen, Lexa knew she saw a woman whose shoulders had long held the burden of a village’s existence.

Lexa’s gaze moved just briefly from person to person before her, each one listening intently to Indra, and Lexa let her ears continue to take in what was said as she also took in those who nodded, who scowled, who agreed and disagreed however subtly or overtly to whatever things were said.

“And Heda Jaxton, Natblida Lexa?” and she looked up to see Indra looking her way.

“He is at the Azgeda border,” Lexa answered. “Polis reinforcements will not be coming,” she continued, her mind turning to Luna who she knew would be leading her own war party against the reapers somewhere else in Trikru lands.

“Tristan will arrive with his warriors soon,” and man said, and Lexa turned to face another Trikru warrior who continued to look to the large map laid out before them. “They are aiding Natblida Luna for now.”

“Then it is settled,” Lexa said, and she felt Anya’s gaze look to her for a moment. “We will clear these lands of reapers as best we can,” and Lexa looked down to the map, she took in the small models that dotted its surface, and she let her mind ease into a gentle calm.

 

* * *

 

The growl of the reaper filtered up from the depths of the forest below. Lexa peered through branch and leaf, through small gap and wide break in the foliage and she let her gaze follow the rustle of movement.

She slinked forward then, hands sure, feet steady against the tree’s wide branch. Others moved with her, too, each one accustomed to life in the branches.

And it hadn’t been the first time she had been given command of warriors, it hadn’t been the first time she had even taken life, but she sensed a difference now, she sensed a slight change in the way the warriors seemed to react to her orders, to her commands. And she thought they did so with a deference and humility that she thought not so familiar.

She paused then, her hand reached to the cord wrapped around her waist and she took just a second to feel that it was secured, and as she did so she sensed those closest to her do the same, she sensed Anya’s presence right behind her and she also sensed Gustus lurking a branch lower, the man’s body placed between her and where an arrow would be fired from.

But perhaps of all the bodies she felt in proximity to her own, she couldn’t quite hold back the faintest quirkings of a smile as she saw Costia’s slender frame perch at the very furthest edges of a branch.

And Costia’s bow was already drawn, the arrow glinting just barely in the light of a sun, and Lexa knew the other woman sighted a reaper, she knew the woman anticipated where it would dash to for cover, where it would next be.

And so Lexa took in a deep breath, she let the air fill her and she let it out in a steady, quiet hoot of a winged beast, and she knew the sound would carry through the trees, to the other warriors in trees close and far from her, where each group of her split war party were ready to strike at the large roaming reaper force below.

Lexa she waited for another moment until she heard the answering hoot that drifted on the wind.

And then she dropped.

Others dropped with her, but Lexa let her gaze snap to the closest reaper, whose back was turned to her, whose flesh was bloodied, grotesque, smeared with the white and the red of whatever foul paste the reapers applied.

Lexa felt the cord around her waist uncoil, unfurl and unwind with her drop, she felt the tension build, she felt the elasticity begin to take hold and she knew she had less than a second to strike.

And so she drew her knife, she let it whistle through the air and she smiled as her feet touched the ground below with barely a sound.

And others mirrored her movements, their own feet just barely touching the ground as they fell behind their own targets.

And all those things happen in less than a second.

Lexa knife flashed forward, her hand snatched up and forward around the reaper’s throat, she felt the body tense, surprise and shock and reaction all that was felt through their contact.

But Lexa’s knife found flesh and blood, she let the blade sink through the reaper’s throat and she let the blood wet her fingers as she heard the ragged gurgle and gasp and wet-wheezing of the reaper’s life fill her ears.

And then Lexa found herself being sprung back up into the trees, she saw others doing the same and she grimaced just a little as a branch scraped her cheek as she broke past the lowest of branches.

Gustus reached out then, his hand quick to grasp onto her as he steadied her onto a branch, and Lexa took a moment to look around, to see those who had not dropped down also helping secure others to branches.

And Lexa couldn’t help but smile as she looked down to the forest floor to see reapers beginning to topple, beginning to fall to the floor.

But the others that hadn’t been targeted began to react, she saw them tense to the sounds of the gurgling blood, to the wetted breath and the dying groans, and they turned, their eyes narrowed, their jaws slackened and their lips turned to snarls of anger and fury as they took in those that lay on the ground, throats split open to the air.

A reaper’s mouth opened then, and Lexa could almost sense the scream of warning that would echo out through the trees.

But no such sound came.

Instead a flash of brown and grey and glinting metal flashed forward, arrows aimed true zipped through the trees and pin-cushioned each remaining reaper and silenced any cry of warning before they could be let loose.

And Lexa smiled.

She smiled for she saw the archers in the trees already knocking second arrows, already aiming at the reapers that lay twitching on the ground, and she also smiled for she saw Costia’s gaze meet hers from higher up, the other woman’s face glowing in the sunlight that set her hair aflame and gave life to her amber eyes.

And perhaps, as Anya came to crouch against the same branch, and as the older woman’s gaze moved between them both, Lexa couldn’t quite feel anything less than an acceptance that whatever Anya would say, whatever she would urge her to do, would be pointless. If only because Lexa didn’t think whatever she felt was wrong.

 

* * *

 

Lexa ran hard, her feet slammed against dirt and mud and stick and sweat clung to her forehead as she ducked low hanging branch and leapt over thorny bush. The sounds of battle raged around her, growls and roars of anger and pain, shouts of warning, of frustrations and excitement all echoed out around her.

And she ducked, she rolled and she came to her feet and slashed out with her sword as she sliced open the belly of a reaper that loomed over her.

Lexa grimaced past the spray of blood as an artery opened in her face, as it painted her in the wetted reds of blood and she spat out whatever mess she found upon her lips as she turned to face the next reaper that seemed to spring out from the undergrowth.

Gustus stood y her side, too, the man’s body guarding her back as he blocked ferocious swing of battle axe and war hammer and sword, each one aiming to cut limb from limb and sever head from neck.

Anya’s voice could be heard over the din of battle, her war cries rallying those around her, and Lexa knew not to worry, not to take heed of the fear that prickled in the back of her thoughts, and so she grit her teeth, she found her next opponent and she sprung forward as her sword slashed out and as her hair whipped around her in a wild mane of motion and turmoil.

Lexa blocked another strike, the reaper before her screaming into the air as he brought his sword up to strike again, but Lexa anticipated the movement and so she rushed forward, she drove her palm into the reaper’s chest hard enough to cause him to stumble, to falter for a second and then she dove back out of reach as a twisted hand came to snatch at her throat.

Lexa grimaced past the ache in her body as she found her footing and readied her sword for the next attack and defence. But an arrow slammed forward, its tip exploding from the reaper’s chest. Lexa’s gaze snapped to where the arrow came from and she couldn’t help but to smile as she saw Costia’s gaze meet hers for a short second before the other woman smiled and laughed as she turned to her next target, arrow already knocked, body crouching beside a warrior who protected her own back.

And perhaps Lexa couldn’t quite hold back the thrill she felt strumming through her veins, perhaps she couldn’t quite hide the flush to her cheeks and the heat she felt burning through her flesh. And perhaps she didn’t mind the thoughts that seemed to take hold within her mind.

 

* * *

 

The pyres burned, their flames licked at the kindling, the heat touched Lexa’s cheeks and her eyes seemed to sting to the smoke and the haze that drifted upwards in the wind.

The fight against the reapers had been swift, it had been bloody, short and simple. And Lexa was thankful for none of her warriors had died, none had seen fit to end their fight. But some had been injured, some had been cut across face, across arm and leg, torso and limb, some more serious than others, some still recuperating, others who may never fight again.

But it was a price to pay for survival, it was a lesson Lexa had had drilled into her thoughts with each waking second, and it was a truth she knew to be true, to be now more apparent than ever.

And so she made sure her gaze stayed upon the burning pyres of the reapers they had slain, on those who had once been proud members of Trikru, who had been mother and father, brother and sister. And she let her thoughts turn to those who had known and had lost something to the Mountain.

She saw a woman whose face remained too close to the flame, whose hand clutched at a dirtied and mangled braid, whose lips quivered and whose soot-stained cheeks carried the tears that streaked from reddened eyes.

And Lexa looked to another warrior who stood close by, whose hand clutched at a second knife now tucked into his belt, whose knuckles were white, whose jaw was clenched too tight, and whose face was twisted in fury and anger and hate.

And Lexa looked to Indra, to the older woman who remained stoic, whose gaze never wavered from the burning pyres, whose mind Lexa knew to be elsewhere, whose mind seemed to be reliving a moment, a choice or a decision that was lost to the past.

And so Lexa looked up to her left, she watched as Gustus remained still, his gaze flickering between burning flame and drifted ember, and she wondered what he thought, she wondered what he wished would happen. And Lexa looked to her right, she looked toAnya, she looked to her first who seemed ever proud, ever quick to anger, ever careful and loyal and caring should the need arise.

And Anya must have sensed her gaze for the older woman looked her way. Their gazes met for a brief moment, but Lexa thought she sensed an understanding upon the other woman’s face, she thought she even sensed a realisation beginning to find its way into the woman’s mind, and perhaps it took a moment longer for Lexa to make sense of her own thoughts, of her own wants and decisions and choices. But she knew after just a short moment that what seemed to now exist within her mind was a desire to make things different. To make things better for those who fought by her side, who showed deference, who showed belief in her actions and choices despite her youth, who fought by her side and who had trained with her since she had been brought to Polis as a child.

And so Lexa turned her gaze to Costia, and she didn’t try to encroach upon the other woman’s quiet, on her own thoughts, on her own worries. And Lexa let her gaze simply take in the way Costia’s face seemed to glow with each gust of wind as it took a flame higher into the sky. And she let her mind memorise the way the wild curls of Costia’s hair seemed to crown her face, how it seemed to breathe freely with each little flutter the woman made.

And Lexa knew.

“I will make a better place for our people,” and Lexa didn’t let her voice carry further than it should, she didn’t let it disrupt those that wished not to hear, that wished to linger in their own thoughts for a while longer.

But some, too, must have heard, for she sensed an understanding rumble deep within thought and feeling. She sensed some nod quietly, barely.

And she sensed Anya’s eyes turn to her, she sensed Gustus step just barely closer and she sensed something not yet explainable begin to take hold within the very corners of her mind.

 

* * *

 

Lexa wasn’t entirely sure how long she had stood before the burning flames, but she had done so until the moon had hung high enough in the sky that it cast a shadow across the lands.

The ash had long since blown away and those who had remained until the last of the embers had extinguished had since retreated to their tents and homes for whatever little sleep they could steal until they were to wake in the morning.

But through all that, Lexa found herself turning pages over in her mind, she found herself sifting through all she had learnt in her short sixteen years of life. And she tried to picture every little dealing Heda Jaxton had had with clan ambassadors, with those allied to his cause, to those indifferent and to those who were hostile. And she pictured the way he would let word be spoken, would let slight and offence slide off his shoulders with little more than a hardening of icy stare. And she found herself trying to see herself in his shoes, she tried to imagine the way she would act, the way she would enact actions and plans, dealings and threats and promises.

And she found herself, perhaps for the very first time, picturing what it would mean to emerge victorious in the conclave. She found herself trying to see the moment where her blade would sink into the flesh of those she had grown with, who she had lived with, with who she knew all too well.

But perhaps she didn’t feel so worried. But for why, she couldn’t quite tell.

But a crack echoed out through the forest, its sound careful, quiet and purposeful to her ears.

Lexa didn’t turn to the sound though, she didn’t even feel the need to acknowledge who approached for she was sure her inaction, her silence and her stillness wouldn’t be seen as a slight.

And so Lexa found just a barely there smile beginning to find its way across her lips as a presence came to stand by her side.

“You are still here,” Costia said, her voice gentle to Lexa’s ears.

“I am,” Lexa answered simply, and she let her gaze remain steady upon the ashes of the once burning pyres.

“It is late,” Costia said, and Lexa felt the warmth of her words brush the shell of her ear.

“It is early,” Lexa found herself challenging as she looked up into the sky for just a moment.

“It is,” and Costia shifted in her place, she seemed to want to reach out and she seemed to want to say more.

“We must leave in the morning,” Lexa said after a pause and she knew Costia to be looking into the sky too.

“I know,” Costia said, and Lexa found herself turning to Costia, turning to the woman she had first seen carrying an animal across small shoulders, to the girl she had first seen in the forest behind a first, whose eyes had held that same wonder that had never faded.

“You should sleep,” Lexa said.

“As should you,” and Costia’s lips twitched at the corners as she continued to trace the stars.

“I am not tired,” Lexa said, and she let the star take hold within Costia’s eyes.

Costia didn’t quite respond to her words then, but a hum, a quiet understanding seemed to slip past her lips and Lexa found the sound calming, she found it charming, and she found it to leave a want and a desire behind that began to grow and thrum through her veins.

“Look,” Costia whispered, gaze still turned towards the heavens.

And so Lexa followed her gaze upwards and into the depths of the night.

And she saw the trail of a star that flew through the night, whose path was sure, whose arc seemed constant and steady and purposeful and calming.

“Their spirits,” Lexa said quietly, and perhaps she found it sad, perhaps she found it sorrowful that only now in death would those she had slain find peace.

“It is beautiful,” Costia said, and Lexa found herself holding back, holding whatever desire she had behind a quiet mantra strumming through her mind.

“Yes,” Lexa whispered, and she found herself looking to Costia, she found herself taking in every small imperfection, every little scar that snaked its way through flesh, to the slightest slivers of silver, to the barely there wrinkles of youth and laughter, and to the glow that seemed to exist around them both.

Costia sensed her looking then, and Lexa watched as Costia looked to her, as she smiled, as she let her gaze move with an uncertainty that she found unfamiliar to her eyes but known to her mind.

“Come,” Lexa said as she held her hand out, as she let it take hold of Costia’s and close around warmth.

And Costia paused for only enough time that Lexa knew she asked a question, asked for reassurances and for an understanding.

“Come,” Lexa repeated more quietly, and she found herself beginning to turn, beginning to move away from the ash that had carpeted the forest floor.

And so Lexa let her feet take her through the forest, past tree, past bush and stone, over dirt and mud, stick and rock, all the while Costia’s hand held in hers.

And Lexa kept walking until she came to the edges of Ton DC, to the tents that dotted the perimeter, to the guards that stood watch, to the sleeping warriors, to the restless sorrows, all the while Costia’s hand held in hers.

And Lexa came to her tent, she came to the shadow of decision, of a choice, of something she thought important.

And Costia paused at the threshold as Lexa reached out with her free hand and swept aside the tent’s entrance.

And Lexa knew that Costia’s pause was yet another question, another careful probe of uncertainty.

“Come,” Lexa whispered as she let Costia’s hand fall from hers and stepped through her tent.

And Lexa felt herself stepping into her tent alone, she felt the warmth of her candles as they burned too cold, and she felt the barely there rustle of her tent’s entrance as it shut out the forest and Ton DC and the world.

Lexa wasn’t sure how long she waited with her back to the tent’s entrance, she wasn’t sure how many breaths she took as she listened to the uncertainty that lingered in her mind.

But she didn’t quite mind the pause for she was sure she knew the decision and the choice already.

And so Lexa smiled more freely than she had done so in so many years as the tent’s entrance opened silently, she smiled as she felt Costia’s presence enter, and she smiled as she found herself being turned.

Lexa came to face Costia, whose eyes seemed less uncertain now, who seemed more sure and confident than they had been moments earlier.

“Lexa,” and the name that fell from Costia’s lips seemed a question, seemed an acceptance, seemed a sign and a want to her ears.

“Costia,” Lexa answered, and she knew her own voice came out just as calm, just as quiet, just as eager and wanting.

Costia’s hand came up then, and Lexa felt Costia’s palm as it came to rest against the beating of her heart, and she felt Costia’s fingers splay out ever so slightly, she felt the pressure and she felt the warmth.

But most of all?

Lexa felt the lips as they reached forward ever so carefully, she felt them press against hers and she felt them linger for long enough that she could savour every little moment shared between them both.

“Have me,” Lexa whispered against Costia’s lips.

And Lexa felt the smile Costia let free, and she felt the pressure, the push the eagerness, and she felt Costia push her back gently, she felt the woman guide her to the corner of her tent, and she felt Costia’s hand a sit lowered, as it lingered somewhere against her hip.

Lexa felt the back of her legs thump against her bed and she couldn’t help but to smile as Costia pushed her down ever so slightly until she came to sit on the edge, where roughened fur came to cradle her in a warmth as Costia stood before her.

And so Lexa smiled as Costia’s furs fell free, she smiled as the flame of the candles cradled Costia’s body, and she smiled as Costia descended upon her.


	14. Chapter 14

Pain was something that seemed ever constant.

Pain was something that seemed ever present.

Pain was something that Lexa had grown accustomed to.

And pain was something Lexa never let herself embrace, never let herself accept for she had been told that it only invited weakness.

But perhaps she had never really accepted those words, perhaps she had never truly heeded the warning and the threat and the truth of what she had been told.

Not until now.

And her eyes stung, they burnt and they bled and they cried tearless sorrow as she forced herself to look, as she forced herself to memorise, as she forced herself to accept.

The flames seared into her flesh, they broke against her face and she knew she should step back, she knew she should take heed of the warnings of pain that burnt against her body.

But she didn’t.

And the pyre burnt, each flame seemingly roaring to life with a ferocity and determination that seemed so unfair. The embers broke into the night and Lexa tried to hold back whatever sorrow seemed to be taking hold within the very corners of her mind.

And she tried to remember, she tried to recall the way a smile would spread across a face, she tried to remember the way eyes would glimmer in the dark, she tried to remember the feel of lips breaking against her flesh and she tried to remember the breath against her neck, against her ear.

And she tried to remember.

But she couldn’t, not when she had seen what she had seen. Not when she had held what she had held. Not when she had felt what she had felt.

“I’m sorry,” her words broke against her lips, and she thought her voice came out too hoarse, too broken and quiet.

And Lexa didn’t quite know what she wished to apologise for, she didn’t even know who she wished to apologise to.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered once more.

She took a step closer to the flame, and she found herself doing so in the hope that the heat would burn away the anger and pain and sorrow, she did so because she hoped it would replace the hurt that bled into her heart, that seemed to break her mind.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered, and she let her eyes stare into the burning pyre that seemed cruelly too small, that was too small to hold anything other than what she had been given.

Lexa took another step towards the fire, and this time she thought she knew why. She thought she knew why she took a step closer.

And she did so if only because she wished to feel as close to her as possible, to never feel so isolated ever again, to never feel so alone, so empty, so hollow.

And perhaps the truth of her thoughts scared her.

If only because Lexa didn’t think she would ever be able to exist without the heat of Costia’s flame that she knew would never be hot enough to sear away the pain she felt in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said one last time as she reached out and let her fingers touch the flame, as she let her skin begin to crack, begin to blacken and burn and bubble.

Lexa heard the echo through her mind then, she heard it from the base of her neck to the tingling edges of her thoughts.

And perhaps, in that moment, Lexa had learnt what it meant to be Commander.

_We know_


	15. Chapter 15

Lexa wasn’t sure whether the ache in her shoulder or the pain in her hip was the thing that woke her first and perhaps she wasn’t so sure whether the cold was what had interrupted her sleep. She wasn’t even sure whether she had truly found sleep in the time she had taken to rest her head against the soft furs that lined her bed.

But nonetheless, wake she did.

And so Lexa’s eyes cracked open to the dark of her tent, to the candles that flickered to and fro, to the flames that burnt too dully, that never quite seemed to bring her as close as she wished to older memories. She paused for only a moment longer as her heart began to beat just a little more fully in her chest.

Lexa sat then and she let the furs pool around her waist as she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dimmed light.

She couldn’t help but to shiver just a little to the cold of the still quiet morning, the air chilled enough to spike her breath and trap it somewhere in her throat. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet coming to lay atop the warmth of thick furs that lined her tent’s floor.

And so Lexa fell into the routine she had come to know well over the years.

She took just three steps before she came to the side of her war table where her furs and leathers and armours were laid out in wait. She dressed quickly, each motion familiar and known to her, each piece of cloth and fur and leather and armour falling into place upon her body with a weight and a pressure that she thought comforting. Or perhaps not so comforting, and perhaps just simply known.

If only because she couldn’t quite remember the last time she had been without at least a piece of armour strapped to her body or one of many small knives she kept hidden and tucked within the folds and layers of her clothes.

But throughout her routine, she found herself trying not to think too far back, trying not to think too far into the days that had since passed, to the bodily aches and pains and to the guilt and anguish and sorrow she had felt.

And she heard it, she knew she would always.

And it started with the barely there strumming that seemed to buzz and tingle at the base of her neck, and she felt it spread, she felt it increase in tempo, in volume and pressure.

Lexa let her eyes close as the voices seemed to echo out a warning within her mind, and she knew what they would say, what they would warn, what they would urge.

“Stop,” her voice came barely audible, barely heard, and perhaps merely thought.

But the droning silenced as quickly as it started, as suddenly as it had been felt.

And so she sighed just once, just enough that her thoughts cleared.

Lexa began moving to her tent’s entrance then, hands quick to snatch at the knife laid atop her war table, fingers fast to slip it into place on her hip, and then she exited the only warmth and solitude she found she could steal.

The morning air broke against her face with a sting and a vibrancy that told her winter was fast approaching, that told her the sun wouldn’t quite warm the lands as it once did.

Ryder stood by her tent’s entrance, the man equally as large as he was silent. Lexa hardly spared his presence and what it meant a thought as their gazes met. But she knew that that, too, was hard. If only because his stature echoed days gone by, the tattoos that broke down his forehead and angled down his nose seemed to conjure echoes of distant friends, and his beard and the braided, wild mane of hair that cascaded down his shoulders and chest seemed to hold a place somewhere deep in her mind.

But Lexa discarded each little thought without worry as she began to move from her tent’s entrance.

Ryder fell into step beside her, and she knew his eyes took in every nook and cranny they passed, every shadow that moved, every person that woke to the cold and early morning.

The ground beneath their feet crunched and cracked with each step they took, the tents they passed bled into neighbouring tent and each campfire that continued to crackle and burn seemed to barely hold back the sting of winter.

But Lexa ignore those, too. And she continued to walk towards the break in the trees, towards where clustered war camp broke out into open ground, into a large clearing that had been flatten and burnt and broken to an impact she still couldn’t quite fathom.

They came to a stop where tree-line broke into the vastness of the clearing. The lands dipped down a rolling hill, rock and stick, cleared land and shrubbery and bush seemed to wind and bleed together with little care for anyone else. But so too did signs of life show through.

A path had been cleared that wended through the clearing, whose surface was part flattened by days of use, whose surface was part tamed by the beginnings of people trying to make a place to call home. Signs of trees having been felled stood out to Lexa, too, tree stumps old and new dotted the clearing, even the signs of smaller dwellings could be seen, most barely a thought on the land, most simply land more carefully cleared than the rest, where wooden stakes simply marked out the corners of whatever building they were to become.

But perhaps what would always steal Lexa’s gaze, what would always steal her attention and what would always command her caution was the broken, twisted and fearsome remains of where a lost future had once lived.

Arkadia lay before Lexa, its hulking remains burnt and charred, its body twisted and deformed to the lands it had impacted. Signs of expansion were clear for Lexa to see, too. Buildings within the confines of Arkadia’s walls already showed signs of construction, already showed signs of stability and permanence. Even the smallest beginnings of farmland could be seen, where land had been worked, where plants had been planted. And perhaps Lexa could admire the tenacity of those she looked down upon, perhaps she could admire their resilience, their longing for a place to call home.

But most of all?

Lexa watched with guarded worry, with guarded curiosity. With careful calculation.

“She comes, Heda,” Ryder’s voice broke the quiet of her thought, his tone low, barely heard on the wind.

And so Lexa’s gaze shifted to the lone woman who slipped through the open gates of Arkadia, whose hand reached out and patted a man’s shoulder, his eyes, even from the distance, Lexa knew to be eyeing her with a distain, with an anger and a resentment she didn’t quite blame him for.

But her gaze moved back to the woman who pulled a weathered jacket more tightly around herself, who shivered to the cold and who began to slow journey through the clearing and up the hill towards where Lexa and Ryder both stood.

Lexa continued to watch as the woman made her way towards them, each step she took more cautious than before as the lands began to turn more wild, more untamed.

And Lexa wasn’t entirely sure what to call the thoughts that came to be within her mind. And she knew she let these meetings continue for a reason she shouldn’t indulge, and perhaps, if only just a little, she found herself knowing why she woke each morning, why she let the woman approach each morning, and why she continued to answer desperation with stoic quiet.

And so Abby came to a stop before her, the older woman’s chest rising and falling to the walk, her hair windswept, her eyes shadowed and tired, her skin pale to the cold, but her gaze quiet, proud, hopeful, longing.

“Commander,” Abby’s voice came out quietly, “Ryder,” and Lexa felt Ryder’s head nod just slightly in recognition.

“Chancellor,” Lexa said.

“Thank you,” and Abby gestured behind her and back to Arkadia. “For the supplies,” and Lexa watched as the woman sighed as she tucked her hands back into deep pockets.

“They were not freely given,” Lexa said, and she saw Abby nod for a moment.

“I know,” and Abby looked up to Ryder, who Lexa was sure eyed the guards she barely made out in the distance who must have been watching the three of them. “But still,” and Abby shrugged. “We’d be in trouble without your supplies,” Abby continued. “So thank you.”

And Lexa nodded her understanding, but from the way Abby seemed to eye her cautiously, she was also sure that the other woman knew suspicions were still alive and well, she knew trust would not be formed between both peoples and she knew, too, that Skaikru would not accept Coalition rule without time and careful manipulation.

“It is to keep the peace,” Lexa said, and she let her chin raise in the direction of Arkadia. “It is to ensure that your people do not seek retribution for the actions at the Mountain,” and Lexa grimaced to the voices she heard echo out warnings through her mind.

Abby nodded her head in answer, and as Lexa continued to keep quiet herself, she was sure Abby understood the pieces Lexa moved, she was sure the woman even sensed the distrust that seemed to roll off Ryder, and Lexa was also sure Abby accepted the way things had fallen into place.

If only because Lexa sensed that Abby was smart and had sensed just how precarious the situation between Skaikru and the Coalition had become.

“The winters are harsh,” Lexa said. “Do not let your people travel beyond the borders agreed upon,” and Abby understood the unspoken threat. “We will continue to provide supplies if you continue to use your tech to heal our wounded and the now cured reapers.”

“I understand,” and Abby looked over her shoulder and back to Arkadia

And it was a motion Lexa knew, it was a motion she was sure she could read as openly as any map laid out upon her war table. Lexa thought the motion long enough that thoughts and questions and worries must have been considered, but, as Abby turned back to her, as the woman’s gaze seemed to harden, seemed to dull, Lexa was sure whatever had existed within Abby’s mind had been discarded.

But perhaps, after so many days of waking to the cold, after so many days waking to the aches and pains of her body, Lexa couldn’t be blamed for wanting to reach out, herself.

And so she did, despite the strumming at the base of her neck, despite the words she heard echo out in the deepest reaches of her mind, despite the years she had survived.

“We have not found a trail,” Lexa lied, and she knew her voice came out cold, came out steady, came out too false, too guarded.

And so Abby looked away, she blinked and Lexa sensed the pain that seemed to begin to fill the other woman’s heart.

“Thank you,” Abby whispered, “for trying to find her,” and Abby’s hand came up as she wiped away whatever pain Lexa wished she could let herself feel.

And so Lexa nodded just once as she took in the woman who reminded her of a pain and a decision she wished to forget, to leave to the past.

But above all?

Lexa felt her own anguish beginning to well and seep through the shield she hadn’t quite been able to patch yet.

For her scouts had found a trail, they had found signs of life, of struggle, of anguish and pain.

But the trail had disappeared off the edge of a ridgeline at the border of another clan, where ripped clothing, where dried blood and signs of a fall, where signs of a broken mind had thrown itself into the depths of an anguish for which Lexa knew she was solely responsible.

And perhaps she was weak, perhaps she was foolish.

And perhaps she thought it was her punishment to have to keep the truth of what her scouts had told her a secret. And perhaps she wished to keep it a secret from Abby. If only because she never wished to once more see such an anguish upon any face that resembled the one she couldn’t forget.

 

* * *

 

It was odd, Lexa thought, that she found herself standing atop the Mountain. The forest stretched out below her, the trees small enough that the lands seemed more like the plains to the west that stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Even the wind this high up seemed more like the piercing winds of Azgeda, where each buffeting gale sent shivers down her spine and caused her warriors to wrap themselves in thicker furs and heavier leathers.

Lexa let her hands sweep over the grass, each blade a prickling tickle that made her skin itch and sting to the cold, but Lexa found herself embracing the feel, the touch and the emptiness that seemed to linger within her mind.

And she wasn’t entirely sure why she had started coming to the top of the Mountain, she wasn’t even so sure she understood just what seemed to exist within her mind.

But, perhaps if she took the time to think, if she took the time to accept, then she would have known.

And she knew she would have.

If only because those same voices that tingled the base of her neck seemed to echo through her mind whenever she let herself linger for too long.

And so she sighed, she blinked away the pain and she cast her gaze out to the glowing lights that had begun to pierce the dark of the nights.

And Arkadia’s lights shone dully in haze of the distance, its broken remains shadowing the ground, its light catching on the wisps of haze that seemed to have settled over the lands as of late.

And maybe that was her punishment, too.

Maybe Lexa would have to always see what was left of those who survived, of those who she had been so willing to sacrifice for her own people.

And maybe their presence was the reminder fated to Lexa so that she never forgot who she had discarded all those days ago.

And so Lexa rose, her shoulder ached and her knees seemed to protest each little movement she made as she came to stand in the small clearing. She looked up into the stars and she let her gaze fall to the skies, to the shining of the dark and to the moon that bathed the lands in a quiet glow.

And not for the first time.

And not for the last time, she heard the quiet of the mantra that echoed through her mind, that took hold of every thought, of every sense and memory.

Lexa found a wry smile coming to play across her lips as her gaze came to rest upon a star that seemed to drift through the heavens in a lonely arc.

She heard it then, louder than she had in years, louder than she had felt in lifetimes. And she understood it more clearly than she had ever understood in her life.

_To be Commander is to be alone._

And so Lexa wasn’t entirely sure who she spoke out to when she let word break past her lips.

“Goodbye.”

 

* * *

 

“Heda, you can not be serious,” the voice rang out, its tone pleading, incredulous, angry and indignant.

“I am,” Lexa snarled as she sat forward, her gaze hardening as she pinned the ambassador with a careful stare.

“They would see it as a sign of weakness, they will not leave such leniency go un-exploited.”

“Has Azgeda committed any crime against the Coalition as of yet?” Lexa said, and she watched as the man paused, as his eyes looked away and as his anger deflated just a little.

“No, Heda,” and she watched quietly as he took a seat, as his jaw clenched and his angers remained just barely tempered.

“I will not allow you to send warriors to any border until any clan commits open hostility,” but despite her words, she couldn’t blame the ambassador for feeling anger, for feeling fury at Azgeda’s actions. “Trikru will not be the clan that causes open hostility to flourish,” and Lexa levelled her gaze at the ambassador as he nodded his head.

“I understand, Heda,” and the man bowed his head from where he sat before her.

“Good,” and Lexa reclined back in her chair as she let her gaze trailed over those that sat before her. “Now,” and Lexa let her gaze land to the Plains Riders’ ambassador, whose own expression seemed guarded and careful as he took in the conversation. “We must discuss a change to our trade agreement,” and Lexa saw the man’s lips purse just slightly as he came to stand and move before her.

And so Lexa let the conversation continue to flow between ambassadors, each one raising grievances and concerns, each one arguing, defending and attacking as the need arose.

But throughout all that, Lexa couldn’t help but to let her gaze linger on the Azgeda ambassador for she knew the clan’s actions deliberate, she knew Nia now played games, and she knew, that with the Mountain’s defeat almost a year ago, Azgeda had now woken from its hibernation.

 

* * *

 

Lexa sat in her throne, her fingers tapped against the dark of the wood and she took a moment to consider what had been said.

“I accept,” and Lexa found herself thinking about just how much she could offer in secret before rumours began to emerge.

“Then Skaikru will have our horses,” Tenebediah said, and Lexa looked away for a moment as she found herself thinking of just why Tenebediah seemed so content to offer horses despite the steep price. “You wonder why we are willing to trade our horses with Skaikru, Heda?”

“I do,” Lexa answered, and she watched as Tenebediah took a moment to consider and to think.

“Perhaps the simple answer is that it is the right thing to do,” and Tenebediah shrugged. “They need our help if they are to continue to survive on their own,” she finished.

“You do not just accept the deal because it is the right thing to do,” Lexa challenged, and from the way Tenebediah’s eyebrows quirked with the slightest hints of humour, Lexa knew the woman found her words just a little humorous.

“And what makes you believe such a thing, Heda?” she asked.

“Your people will now be able to grow crops where they once were unable,” Lexa shrugged. “That is a gift many clans would wage wars to own.”

“It is a gift that will be shared with the Coalition in time,” Tenebediah countered.

“It is,” Lexa agreed, but she couldn’t quite dismiss the worry in the back of her head as she took a moment to consider Azgeda’s reaction to the sharing of tech. But for now, she was simply content to accept that Skaikru would continue to be continued behind her curtain of trade.

 

* * *

 

The gates to Arkadia now seemed permanently opened, their hinges seemed just a little rusted, unused, the ground now paved and tamed.

Lexa sat atop her horse as the morning light cascaded over her shoulder, as the heat of the sun shone upon her back. Her warriors moved around beside her, each one leading extra horses around the carts that were being unpacked.

It had taken careful negotiation, threats and subtle dealings, but Lexa was content with how her day was now unfolding. And she knew that Azgeda would attack one day, she knew they would come from the north, would sweep through the lands if left unchallenged.

And she knew, too, that the clan would target Skaikru, would try to capture their tech.

And so Lexa had had to convince clan and ambassador through quiet discussions late at night that making Skaikru reliant on their trade was a necessary step in ensuring the peace.

And so Lexa grimaced just a little as a young second pushed one of the largest horses she had ever seen, but despite the size difference, the horse seemed content to move where the young girl pushed.

Lexa’s gaze landed on Abby who stood off from the commotion, arms folded across her chest as she chewed on a lip as she took in each great horse that was led before her and through the gates of Arkadia to where the new stables had been constructed. Bellamy stood by her side, his own eyes guarded and careful as he looked from horse to grounder and back.

“Do you think it is wise, Heda?” Ryder asked quietly beside her.

“It is,” and Lexa knew what worried Ryder for it had worried her at first, too. “We must ensure that Skaikru is reliant on our aid if they are to remain friendly to the Coalition,” and she looked to a warrior whose bearded face approached a Skaikru guard, both men eyeing each other for a moment before the warrior handed over the reins of the horse.

“The Plains Riders, Heda,” and Ryder gestured to a group that stood amongst the horses, “they have demanded more in return for the horses,” and Lexa nodded at that, too.

“They have,” she said, and she couldn’t help but to feel just a little impressed by a young Plains Riders second who sat atop his own horse and directed it around with barely a thought.

“That will not be a problem?” Ryder questioned.

“No,” Lexa said, and she found Ryder’s careful questions to be less insulting, less questioning, and more so a desire for his own curiosity to be answered. “The Plains Riders are a clan that understand that if Azgeda attacks then it will take Skaikru’s tech to end the bloodshed before too many lives are lost,” and Lexa sighed deeply as she took a moment to take in a Skaikru guard who struggled with controlling one of the great horses.

“But these horses, Heda?” and Ryder’s head cocked to the side as he took in the same scene.

“You think it is a waste to provide Skaikru with horses from the Plains?”

“I do, Heda,” and Ryder frowned in thought.

“These horses will require our people to teach Skaikru how to ride much longer than lesser horses,” Lexa said. “It will further Skaikru’s need to rely on us,” and she couldn’t help but to smirk just barely at the way Ryder nodded his understanding.

And so Lexa watched as a horse nipped at a Skaikru guard, and she found herself just slightly regretting her decision. If only because she knew Skaikru would need significant help in taming the beasts.

 

* * *

 

Lexa wasn’t sure whether the ache in her shoulder woke her, she wasn’t sure if it was the pain in her hip, and she wasn’t sure if it was the stiffness in her wrist. But she knew she woke when she sensed the breath that seemed to linger through her quarters, that seemed too shallow, too quiet, too careful to be anything other than danger.

She stilled for a moment as she let her mind fully wake, she stilled as she let herself settle into whatever actions she would have to take.

She heard the barely there thump as softened footstep approached, she heard the slightest quickening of breath and she sensed the anticipation already beginning to build within her mind.

But there was a pause, there was a moment of stillness.

And of all the assassinations she had survived, she knew what that pause must have meant.

And so she dove, she threw her furs upwards and she heard the curse and the twang of a bowstring and the hiss and thump as an arrow slammed into her headboard.

Lexa swivelled on her knees, her eyes quick to snap to the shadow in her room, and she saw the person draw another arrow, she saw them beginning to move, but so too did Lexa hear the guards outside react to the sounds, she heard them yelling and she heard swords being drawn.

Lexa’s hands gripped the knife tucked into her sleep shorts, she let the harshness of the blade sing free and she slashed out as another arrow was fired at her.

And it happened quickly, it happened in seconds.

The arrow snapped forward, her knife snaked out and she sliced it out of the air, and as Lexa did so she rose to her feet, her body already beginning to close the distance with her assassin.

At the same time her door burst open, the flame of torches being held flooded her dark room and two guards rushed forth.

But Lexa reached the assassin first, her fist slammed down onto the hand that drew back a third arrow and Lexa felt it snap forward and just barely pierce the flesh of her thigh before she kicked out and tripped the assassin as her guards gripped neck and hair and body as they wrestled the person to the ground.

The alarm sounded then, its horn low and deep, its rumble causing the stone underfoot to vibrate.

Shouts came next, and Lexa sneered as she let her hand wipe away at the blood that dripped from her thigh.

And perhaps she had expected the arrow to be poisoned, perhaps she had expected it to be laced with a powder that would killed her with a touch, and so it surprised her that she sensed no poison beginning to take hold within her body.

“Heda?” one of her guards asked, the man’s knee pressed into the assassin’s throat, another holding both hands behind a struggling back.

“I am fine,” Lexa answered as she looked around herself, as she tried to see how the assassin had found his way into her quarters.

But she knew who had sent the assassin, and she knew why the blade hadn’t been poisoned.

And she knew Nia had ordered her death, and she knew that the blade hadn’t been poisoned.

If only because a poisoned blade would have told the Coalition exactly who had killed her, exactly who had ordered her death.

But most of all, Lexa was sure Nia didn’t truly believe the assassin would have succeeded. And she knew, too, that Nia had meant for it to be a message, and a threat.

Lexa knew that war with Azgeda was coming.

 

* * *

 

Walking the halls of Arkadia shouldn’t have felt so uncomfortable as they now felt. But each step Lexa took that echoed out seemed to ring loudly in her ears.

Her warriors walked behind her, Ryder by her side, and she felt the eyes of the Skaikru upon her, each one guarded, each one careful.

And she knew, despite the months, despite the many trading convoys and despite the changing seasons each year brought, that Skaikru would never fully trust her, would never truly let their guard down.

And she had heard whispered conversation of what some still thought of her, she had heard many times of what they had thought of her leaving them to the mercy of the Mountain, she had even suspected some had tried to rebel, had tried to overthrow those that commanded Skaikru’s tech.

But that accusation had been kept to herself, that realisation had been hidden behind a facade when she realised one inspection of Arkadia that there were fewer Skaikru guards, that those still serving had injuries, that even Abby had a blackened eye.

But Lexa knew what had happened for she had had her own spies in the forests, who had watched over Skaikru since the Mountain, and who had heard and seen the fighting, the pleading and the accusations and rage.

But she knew those things would have set back years of planning. And so she had let the rebellion die without word of it spreading.

So perhaps now, as she walked through the halls, she could be forgiven for not quite feeling at ease.

But she knew it to be for reasons other than that, and she knew it to be so because she now came to Skaikru to ask, to request, to remand if needed, their aid in the coming war.

And perhaps she wouldn’t blame Skaikru for rejecting what she would come to ask.

And so Lexa lifted her chin and steadied her breathing as she stepped into the room and came face to face with the Skaikru Council, her mind already turning over the words she would have to say in order for Skaikru to feel like the decision for them to join the fight against Azgeda wasn’t already decided.

 

* * *

 

Lexa had lost count of how many injuries seemed to plague her waking mind, she had lost count of how many times an assassin had tried to slip a blade between her ribs and she had lost count of how many times she had stared death in the face and dared it to end her fight.

But as the snow drifted down from the skies, as the aches in her body seemed to scream out to her, and as her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, Lexa wasn’t so sure she knew how many more deaths she could face before a knife pierced her lung, or an arrow embedded itself in her heart or a sword cleaved her head from her shoulders.

Lexa took a deep breath in then, she held it for as long as she could and she tried not to let the buzzing in the back of her mind distract, toy with and plague her worries.

She felt the tingle in the base of her neck, too, and she thought it annoyance and incessant, she thought it preparing itself for her death, and she found the voices that never seemed to leave her be take hold, take purchase in every thought she found slipping through her mind.

The neighing of a horse broke her revelry, its sound carrying of the frozen lands. Lexa grimaced just a little as other horses joined with the first until the sound seemed to cascade through the air.

She heard the echoed sound from afar though, she heard the rumble, the thumping and the beating of drums that echoed off the distant hills and the frozen ground.

Lexa let her breath out, and she let her gaze settle upon the woman who stood opposite her, whose body seemed small and hazed to the distance between them. But Lexa knew Nia to be smiling, she knew Nia to be sneering, to be eager for her death, to be eager for passing. 

And so Lexa let the war cry rip from her throat as she drew her sword and charged forward.

And she ran faster than she had ever run in her life.

She ran with a determination and a fury and an anger that seemed unbefitting of someone who had become Commander, of someone who had defeated the Mountain, of someone who had tamed those that fell from the sky.

But perhaps that fury, that anger, that determination seemed fitting for someone who had lived her entire life with loss, whose youth had been spent beating beaten, being hit, tripped, bled and forced to suffer.

Perhaps that fury, that anger, that determination was fitting for someone who had had her heart ripped from her chest with the death of her first love. With the death of her mentor, with the death of her protector and with the loss of someone who had dared to burn more brightly within her mind than she had been willing to accept.

But most of all?

Lexa ran with a fury, with an anger and with a determination that was fitting for someone who didn’t quite expect to see the sun rise in the morning.

 

* * *

 

The war with the Mountain had been vast, her armies had been huge, but she had never truly seen the extent of them all together for it had been suicide to risk the Mountain dropping a bomb into the armies, or of sending the acid fog down upon them, and so that had been why Lexa had ordered her armies in the forests, and that had been why she had never truly seen them grouped together so vastly.

But now, as Lexa stood at the forefront of her armies, as she let the cold of the night pour into her bones, as she let the pains that littered her flesh and as she let the heat of the burning pyres crash across her face, she couldn’t help but to feel dwarfed by the loss of life, by the pain, by the extent in which her people had suffered.

Pyres burnt for as far as the eye could see, each one’s flames reaching up to the sky and casting the melting snow underfoot a red and orange glow.

Warriors from every clan were laid to rest within the burning flames, warriors from every clan stood watch, and every warrior seemed to carry upon shoulders the burden of death, and the weight of whatever thoughts seemed to take hold within tired mind.

And Lexa remembered it all. She remembered killing Azgeda warrior after Azgeda warrior. She remembered Trikru archer firing upon Azgeda archer, she remembered warhorse crashing against warhorse, and she remembered the sprays of blood, the cries of pain and hate, of panic and desperation and sadness and loss.

And she remembered the way it had felt to come face to face with Nia in the heart of battle, to see the woman covered in blood, her furs ruined, her eyes aflame with glee.

And Lexa remembered every slash of her sword, every time she had stumbled and every time she had barely blocked Nia’s attacks.

And she remembered killing the woman, she remembered plunging her knife into the woman’s heart, she remembered her own pain as her thigh gave out from where Nia’s knife had been embedded within flesh and muscle.

Lexa grit her teeth, she let the heat of each burning pyre wash away her pain and she tried not to think of all the healers who were absent, of all the healers who still remained in the healer’s tents, each one trying to save the lives of those that needed the diligent care of another.

She let her gaze move to the others around her, to those that stood watch, to the countless faces, to the bloodied noses and swollen cheeks.

And she saw Azgeda warriors paying their respects, she saw forest clans standing together in comfort, she saw Rock Line, and Desert and Blue Cliff warriors sharing in warmth. And she saw Plains Riders who stood in the snow, whose bodies shivered to unfamiliar cold. And Lexa couldn’t help but to recognise Tenebediah who stood somewhere near the front of her people, whose dreadlocked hair cascaded over weary shoulders, whose tattooed lips seemed to quiver to the sorrow and to the cold. But what Lexa found odd was the young girl who stood by Tenebediah’s side, whose face just barely held onto a youth that was soon to fade, whose face was weary, and whose hair seemed to be braided in a pattern that Lexa couldn’t quite discern why it made her recall a presence she hadn’t let herself dwell upon for many years.

But perhaps Lexa had simply seen the girl once before, had seen her in any one of the clan meetings Tenebediah had been a part of, or perhaps Lexa had seen her in another life, in another time.

And so Lexa turned her gaze back to the burning pyres, to the flames, to the heat, and she tried not to let herself think of futures past tomorrow, if only because she found herself unsure of what life held in store for her anymore.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t entirely been her idea, it hadn’t even been considered before someone had brought mention of it, but touring each clan was something Lexa had found herself embarking upon after the war between Azgeda and the Coalition.

And it had started with almost a whole season spent moving back and forth between Polis and Azgeda in an attempt to create stability and to reassure both the Coalition and Azgeda that the newfound peace would last.

Even that hadn’t been without its problems though, and Lexa had the scars to show for it, she had the execution of three assassins and the bloodied furs to prove to those whose belief in her wavered, that she knew what she was doing.

Lexa had spent the time swearing Roan to fealty, ensuring he would never make a move upon the Coalition, and she hadn’t left until she was sure the man knew the seriousness of her commands.

And so Lexa had travel through the Coalition lands, she had spent the briefest of moments with the Boat Clan, whose leader she knew, whose people hadn’t been seen during the war.

And Lexa had returned through Trikru lands, she had let her warriors rest, she had let them recuperate, and she had let them enjoy what little time they had had before she had set off.

But she had also seen Skaikru, she had seen those that had helped the war by providing their tech, their knowledge and their skills, and Lexa had spoken to Skaikru leadership to ensure that the peace would now last, she had even spoken to Abby, to the woman who had seemed more hollow with each passing day, with each growing absence that a daughter had left.

But Lexa couldn’t blame the mother, she couldn’t blame her for holding onto hope, for holding onto whatever foolish spark that seemed to exist within her heart.

She had left Skaikru and she had toured the forest clans, Broad Leaf, Glowing Forest, even the Shallow Valley people, each one having suffered their own losses to Azgeda’s violence.

But the other clans needed to be seen to, they needed to be reassured, they needed to know that the Coalition was now stable, that trade would continue to flow freely, that they had not been forgotten in the haze of violence. Lexa had spent time with Rock Line, with Blue Cliffs, with every clan that needed reassurances.

And the Plains Riders had been left to the last clan to visit. And she had done so for she knew their temperament to be the easiest, to be the calmest, to be one she need not worry for. And perhaps she had also done so because they had shared a border with Trikru, meaning that her touring of the clans would end with her arriving back within Trikru borders and back with in the halls of Polis with little further travel.

And so Lexa sighed, she stretched her back and she cast her gaze upwards and into the stars that had long since begun to fade to the morning light.

She had forgotten just how mind numbingly large the plains were, she had forgotten just how rich the grass was, how red and yellow and orange every little thing appeared. But she was thankful that the weather had held steady, she was thankful that the ride was easy, that the warriors who rode with her were calm, were content. Lexa looked to her left as she eyed Ryder, the man’s face now scarred from an arrow that had just barely missed embedding itself in his brain.

Lexa looked up to the sky once more, and she took a moment to take in the position of the stars, and she knew they were close, she knew they would soon come to the valley.

And so Lexa wasn’t surprised when she began to hear the barest sounds of horses in the distance. A shadow fell across the lands as suddenly as Lexa registered it and she couldn’t help but to let just one quiet smile find its way to her eyes as she watched as the shadow rolled away from her and dipped down and down and down into a valley that cut into the plains.

Its sides were vast, the valley long. Trees seemed to huddle together in patches, each one’s branches thin, swaying to the breeze and reaching upwards. Rivers snaked and cut swathes of glowing red through the valley floor as the sun shone down with an intensity that cast the lands in a warm haze that Lexa couldn’t help but to find charming. In the distance was a large lake, its surface also shimmering and glowing with each reflection of the sun’s light.

But what captured Lexa’s gaze, what really stole her attention were the open fields below where Plains Riders rode atop their horses, where they raced back and forth, where they controlled beast with a precision and a comfort that only the most skilled warriors possessed.

And Lexa felt the warriors who rode with her rumble quietly to the displays they saw down below, to the warriors who continued to train in the early morning light. And Lexa’s gaze fell to the largest of the clearings to find a lone warrior riding before a mass of others.

The rider seemed small, seemed ant-like through the distance, but Lexa watched as the warrior’s hair whipped out behind them, as its colour seemed to glow a molten gold in the sun’s light, and as the red of her clothing seemed to come aflame with the speed of the horse she rode.

And the warrior stood atop her horse, and Lexa’s eyes narrowed as the warrior reached down, as she unhooked a bow from the saddle and as she knocked an arrow in one easy motion.

A twanging echo rolled through the valley then, and Lexa saw a bundle of cloth wrapped leather flung into the sky from somewhere in the distance, and the warrior saw it, too, and Lexa watched as a glowing face seemed to peer up into the sun’s light, and Lexa knew the woman to be tracking the targets that flew through the air.

And Lexa didn’t gasp, she barely made any sign of admiration, but those around her did, and they did because the warrior leapt from the top of her horse as it continued to gallop faster and faster and faster, and the warrior fired one arrow, a second arrow, and a third arrow before even hitting the ground, and Lexa watched as each one arced through the air and slammed into the targets as they plummeted back to the hard packed grass.

And Lexa knew this to be a demonstration, she knew it to be a test perhaps, or even simply someone showing off for their comrades.

And so it didn’t surprise Lexa when she saw the warrior bring fingers to lips and let loose a piercing whistle. And the warrior’s horse turned to the sound, it’s head reared and it took off even faster than before as it raced towards the warrior who now ran before it, whose hand reached out, whose head was turned to see.

And Lexa knew any other would have been trampled, she knew any other would have been struck by the horse.

But the warrior timed their leap perfectly, and she leapt, her hand snared at the saddle as her horse ran past and she swung herself up and onto the horse with little sign of effort.

And, for some unknown reason, Lexa couldn’t quite understand the feeling that seemed to be causing her stomach to clench and her mind to begin bringing forth memories she wished would leave her be.


	16. Chapter 16

The Azgeda campaign had been brutal, it had been swift, it had been sudden and a flurry of panic, of frustrations, anger, fury. Word had come to the Plains Riders that an assassination had been attempted on the Commander, that Azgeda was unofficially to blame, and that the clans grew more and more frustrated with the violent clan’s actions.

It hadn’t surprised Clarke when messengers from Polis had arrived, when they had declared that the Coalition had removed Azgeda from its seat and that any further provocation would be met with violence.

Clarke was thrown into yet another war, where blood and suffering and death had become yet another familiar daily routine. And despite the fact that Clarke had learnt to care for herself and for others, she had found a place somewhere in the midst of the Plains Riders, whose horses were able to transport supplies and equipment far and wide, whose great steeds were able to move the wounded from the front lines and to the rear where the injured were cared for more easily, more quickly than the horses belonging to other clans.

And so Clarke had found herself taking lead of one of the larger healing camps set back from the Azgeda border. And perhaps it had been her skills as a healer that had resurfaced, perhaps it was her experience during the Mountain’s campaign, or perhaps it was simply happenstance, but Clarke had embraced the work she had done, where she had helped those wounded, where she had saved life, where she had made sure any who crossed into her camp’s light would have a fighting chance at renewed life.

And through all that, Jessa had stuck by her side, the girl had learnt, had watched, and had kept company to the cold nights, to the waking terrors and the blood and to the wails of pain and despair that Clarke knew to be a constant companion to war.

Their bond had grown over the years, too, and Clarke hadn’t thought much of it at first, she hadn’t even realised just what had begun to happen, but as each day passed Clarke had felt herself grow more and more protective of Jessa whose life had been upended, had been devastated with the return of Clarke’s people to the ground. And perhaps it had been at first out of guilt, perhaps it had been out of a sense of responsibility that she had accepted Jessa’s company, but, Clarke had soon found that she cared for the girl as much as she did for those she had been most close to, to those she had cared for, had respected, had depended upon, and had loved.

And perhaps, too, she had found herself glad that Jessa took in the life she now led, where the blood that stained her hands came from saving life and not from taking it, where the tears that dripped down her cheeks were from happiness that another was spared death’s embrace and not from a guilt or anguish at the life she had stolen.

But, Clarke always worried, she worried that Azgeda would break through the front lines, would ravage the lands, would capture, kill, dismember any they came across, and so she had made sure she could care for herself, that she could defend, that she could take life if need be. But most of all, Clarke knew she worried for Ten who had led their people, who had been in the midst of battle, who had been fighting too far away for Clarke tohelp, too far away for her to aid.

But Ten would return each time with stories of victory, with stories of defeat, with stories of weariness, of anger, of acceptance, but most importantly, stories of the people from the sky, of the people who had brought their tech, who had used it to turn the tide of many a battle, and one who had saved life when needed, and had taken life when required.

And Ten knew not to pry, she knew not to broach upon sensitive topics, but Clarke knew, too, that Ten was smart, that she had put together, had pieced together mother and daughter, had pieced together the familiarity.

Clarke was thankful Ten never spoke of it, never quite let her curiosity take control of her words and actions. But perhaps Clarke knew the words hidden behind Ten’s gaze, how could she not?

But the war had ended as swiftly as it had started. It had ended with one last great battle, one last great skirmish, one last great loss of life, where warrior had broken against warrior. And Clarke had been set apart from it, she had been at the barest edges, she had protected the wounded, had herded them to the rear, had cared for, had healed, had saved life and had taken life when needed.

But what scared her the most? What made her blood freeze, what made her hands fumble, her breath break against bloodied lips?

It was when she had seen the flash of a red sash surrounded by Azgeda warriors, it had been the familiarity of a snarl, of a roar, of a body that had spun, had twisted and danced and slipped from person to person as it left death behind in its wake.

And Clarke had always known it was a possibility that their paths would cross, that after all the years she could one day catch glimpse of the person who had shattered her mind. And so it had surprised her just a little that the feeling she had felt wasn’t so much anger, wasn’t so much despair, or guilt, but rather an emptiness that seemed to cling to her mind, that seemed to hollow out her heart, that seemed to leave behind an incompleteness that felt as though it had never quite settled alongside her as she had settled into her new life.

But perha—

“Clarke.”

And Clarke started just a bit as the voice broke through her musings.

“Yeah?” and she looked up to find Ten eyeing her cautiously, the woman’s gaze soft in the setting sun’s light, her shoulders wrapped in a light scarf whose red colour seemed to bathe her face in a soft pink glow.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere,” Ten said, and Clarke saw the hidden words in Ten’s eyes.

“I’m ok,” Clarke said as she smiled lightly.

“Are you?”

“I am,” and Clarke shrugged just a bit as she look away in thought. “Just lost in thought,” Clarke finished as she looked back to the horizon.

“The peace will last, Clarke,” Ten said, and Clarke thought she sensed the weariness in the woman’s words, and she thought she sensed a hope, too.

“Yeah,” and perhaps Clarke couldn’t quite tell just what made her believe it, too, but she thought the Coalition now stable as it could ever be.

“We should arrive home soon,” Ten continued as she looked up into the sky, as she judged how far away they must be.

“Good,” and Clarke glanced upwards and through the small herd of warriors who rode atop weary horse as she eyed Jessa’s messily braided head of hair that bobbed to the swaying of her own horse.

“Jorda will not let her find trouble,” Ten said, and Clarke turned to find the woman smirking a little as she followed Clarke’s gaze.

“It isn’t Jessa I’m watching,” Clarke answered, eyes narrowing as she saw the boy guide his horse a little closer to Jessa’s own.

“She is growing,” and Ten shrugged. “She is becoming a woman.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t scare off anyone who gets the wrong idea,” and Clarke’s gaze narrowed even further as she saw the boy pull out his knife and begin to spin it through his fingers.

Ten laughed quietly at that though, and perhaps the sound helped to ease Clarke’s mind for the moment for she felt herself relax, but not before just once glancing to Jorda to find the dark skinned man moving just a little closer, his own watchful eye tracking the flashing knife lest its wielder become too distracted.

“How’s Jorda’s arm?” Clarke asked, and she tried to see signs of discomfort on the man.

“It still pains him,” Ten said, and Clarke couldn’t hold back her own quiet laugh as she sensed Ten’s annoyance.

“But he hides it,” Clarke finished, and she took a moment to think over just how lucky Jorda was that it was a clean break.

“Yes,” and Ten shrugged as she shifted in her saddle and reached down for her water flask.

Clarke took a moment to think over the weeks since Azgeda had ben defeated then, and she couldn’t help but to feel just the barest hints of guilt that seemed to cling to her. And she knew it to be because she had seen shadows of her old people who had fought alongside the Coalition, she had heard whisper of them in war meetings, by campfire light, where warriors from every clan had gathered.

And she had considered approaching, had considered trying to make herself known.

But after the years, she hadn’t quite known how to go about doing it, she hadn’t even really known what she could have said.

And what could she say? What would make up for her actions, for leaving, for disappearing without a word?

But as a yawn escaped past her lips, Clarke found herself discarding those thoughts, for she knew worrying over things long gone to be a foolish thing that simply left behind an emptiness that would linger for far too long.

 

* * *

 

The large party of riders arrived at village Raska just as the sun begun to dip below the horizon, where lands were washed in the last remnants of the sun’s light and where the cool of the night had already begun to take hold of the lands.

Clarke’s feet trudged along the ground as she made her way through the streets, her pack slung over her shoulder, a hand hooked into its strap as Jessa walked beside her, Ten and Jorda close behind them.

“I wish we had more time to see Trikru lands,” and at that Clarke winced just a little as she looked down to Jessa who’s eyebrows were furrowed, her lip held between teeth as she chewed for a moment.

And Clarke wasn’t so sure how best to answer, how best to bring up what they had both left behind.

“I didn’t know you wanted that,” and Clarke hadn’t, she hadn’t even brought up Ton DC, she hadn’t brought their shared pasts, their shared memories.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jessa answered with a shrug.

“Hey,” and Clarke nudged the girl a little as they walked side by side.

“I’m ok,” Jessa said simply, and Clarke watched as she sighed and hefted her own pack onto higher shoulders. “I just—” but Jessa paused for a moment as they passed a crackling fire, as they passed a group of people who still lingered outside in the cooling air. “I just miss it a little,” and Jessa looked up and wiped at a strand of hair as she held Clarke’s gaze.

But as Clarke took the time to take in what lived within Jessa’s eyes, as she took the time to consider the girl’s words, she thought she knew what Jessa really said, what she really meant.

“Yeah,” and Clarke smiled as she reached up and tucked a strand of Jessa’s braid back into place. “I understand.”

Quiet conversation fell between them, Ten and Jorda happy to interject at times, and Clarke found herself enjoying how her life had changed, and where she now found herself.

But they came to their home then, and Clarke couldn’t help but to feel a sense of longing beginning to take hold, for she hadn’t seen the small building for weeks, she hadn’t seen its red stained curtained windows, she hadn’t seen the intricate horse etchings across the door, she hadn’t even seen the small chairs that flanked the entrance, where she had spent days simply happy to sit and enjoy whatever she found herself enjoying.

“It is good to be home,” Ten said as they came to a pause, and Clarke turned to her with a tired smile as she saw Jorda yawn widely as he stretched for a moment. “We will see you in the morning,” she finished, Jorda quick to wave halfheartedly as they both turned and began heading to their own homes elsewhere in the village.

And so Clarke turned back to the small building as she began to shrug her pack off her shoulders, mind already turning to the sleep soon to come.

But she knew rest wouldn’t last long, and she knew hers was one of the first parties to have returned to Raska, most of the wounded needing to travel slower, needing to be cared for, and that her return was simply so that she and the others could begin to prepare whatever supplies would be needed to help those on their journey to recovery.

But that, Clarke thought, wouldn’t be too bad.

“I’m tired,” and Jessa yawned as she kicked off her boots and stepped into the small building they had shared since coming to Raska.

“Where do our boots go?” Clarke said.

“By the door,” and Clarke couldn’t help but smile just a little as Jessa groaned and turned back to where her boots had found themselves.

“And where are they not?” and Clarke moved into the building, too, her own boots quick to be forced from tired feet.

“Not by the door,” and Jessa grumbled just a little as she reached down and shuffled her boot to their usual resting place.

“Now sit,” and Clarke pulled a small stool to the side of the bed she now sat upon, a brush in one hand, the other lighting a candle.

 

* * *

 

There were certain things Clarke had found that she enjoyed most in life. One was the wind that would make her hair feel alive as she rode upon her horse, one was the plains she rode through, where the lands were washed in the deep reds and yellows and amber oranges of the grass and dirt and rocks, she even loved the cool mornings when the mist would be set alight with the sun’s rays as it made its way higher and higher and higher into the sky.

But perhaps the things, the moments, the times she enjoyed most were those of quiet company she had with Jessa, where both of them would let the stillness of the nights linger, where they would simply live in the company kept and had.

“Sorry,” Clarke whispered quietly as Jessa winced to the pull of her hair.

“It’s ok,” Jessa answered, but Clarke took extra care in unbraiding Jessa’s hair, in loosening the knots and easing the frayed mess it had become in their travels.

But something seemed to linger in the corners of her mind, and Clarke found herself thinking over what Jessa had experienced, what she had seen, and what had happened to both of them.

“Hey,” Clarke found herself saying, and her voice came out just a little more quietly then she had intended.

Jessa hummed a response then, and so Clarke let the pause she took take hold for a moment longer. And she found herself thinking of her former people, of Skaikru, of those she had glimpsed, of those she had left behind. Clarke thought of Bellamy, of the things she had said before walking away, and she thought of her mother, of what she must have lived through.

“Do you want to go back?” Clarke asked, and she didn’t quite know what to say, or perhaps she was simply afraid of the answer she wished to hear. “Not permanently,” Clarke added as she felt Jessa stiffen. “But just to say hi? Just to see what it’s like now?” and Clarke didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t know,” and Jessa turned around to face Clarke.

“You had friends in Ton DC,” Clarke said, and she watched as Jessa frowned, as she looked away and as memories took hold.

“I have friends here,” Jessa countered after a moment.

“Hey,” and Clarke reached out and squeezed Jessa’s knee briefly.

“I—” but Jessa paused once more.

“We don’t have to make any decisions any time soon, we’ve got things we need to do for now,” Clarke said, and she thought she sensed Jessa relax that. “We’re in this together, Jessa,” and perhaps simply opening the door to the idea of visiting where they had once called home was enough for now.

 

* * *

 

The wounded returned to Raska in waves, the first to enter the village were those least wounded, but who had needed time to recuperate before being moved. Clarke found that most of her days were spent seeing to various wounds caused by blades, by swords and spears, axes and knives, and she also found herself redressing, re-stitching far too many wounds for her approval, all the while the injured warriors simply mumbling a somewhat apologetic sound as she scolded them. And she found that her free moments were spent on horseback, were spent in the open fields were she rode horse back and forth, where she trained with bow, with knife, with manoeuvre and skill that she lived for. And through all that, Jessa remained by her side, each passing day ending with them both returning home, to their beds, to the warmth of a fire and to a sleep that seemed too short for either of them. The second wave of wounded warriors to return were worse off than the first, many of these were missing limbs, had been maimed, and would never return to a battle in their lifetime.

And with that, too, Clarke threw herself into caring for them, into working with the other healers, into checking on the wounded, into listening to their anguishes, their own demons and their own terrors. And perhaps those moments brought memories to the very forefront of Clarke’s mind, perhaps listening to the pain of others made her recall her own sufferings, her own guilts, but through it all, she knew time, she knew companionship would help, could help.

And so she had been there, just as Jessa had been there for her, and just like she had been there for the girl. And that, too, Clarke thought was something she could do to atone, to help wash away whatever remnants of her past she seemed to think still dirtied her mind.

But she should have known the days were not to be the only battles she was to fight, and to protect from.

And she should have known because she had experienced it, too. And so it shouldn’t have surprised her one night when she had woken to the whimperings of pain and distress that echoed out through her small home, and she had woken to find Jessa fighting whatever demons plagued her sleeping mind, whatever ghosts had seen fit to revisit her after so long.

And Clarke knew that time, that her care, that her dedication would help. But most of all, Clarke found herself wanting to do all that, perhaps to do more than she possibly could, all in the hopes of helping the girl she had come to think of as something more than she had ever intended her to become.

And so Clarke had spoken to Ten one quiet morning, she had told her of Jessa’s struggles, of her anguishes, and she had asked for Ten to help, for anything.

Ten had suggested that Jorda begin taking Jessa through more advanced training, she had even suggested Jessa throw herself into the advanced lessons with the seconds who were older, who were more used to the violence of life on the ground, and at first Clarke had been apprehensive, at first she had been wary, but yet, she knew Jorda to be a man fit for such a task, if only because of all the years Clarke had known him, she had never once seen him quick to anger, quick to raised voice, quick to ill temper.

And so Jessa had been thrown into training with Jorda as equally as she stayed by Clarke’s side through her work helping the injured, and perhaps all it took was for Jessa to be too tired, to be too weary from her days to relive her demons, and it had helped, at least somewhat, at least enough that Clarke only found that she needed to stay awake long enough that Jessa’s quiet whimpering faded into deep breathing.

Clarke found herself falling back into the rhythm of her life with the Plains Riders, where she would wake to the morning light, where she would help those that needed helping, and where she would hunt, would train, would ride and live and gather by the fires as the sun dipped below the horizon and laugh and share in the company of those who had taken her in.

And so it was such a night that Clarke now found herself.

Clarke sat on a long bench, others on either side, quiet conversation flowing from mouth to mouth, all the while a large fire crackled and burned and buzzed in the purple of the setting sun.

Jessa sat beside her, the girl’s eyes already beginning to close, already beginning to find sleep. And as Clarke looked to her, as she took in the bruises across her body from falling off horse, from being struck by blunted weapon, Clarke couldn’t help but to miss the youth that had once clung so fiercely to Jessa’s face.

But now, as she took in the younger girl, she saw the signs of adolescence really taking hold, she saw the baby fat that seemed to burn away with each passing day, she saw the gangly limbs, the growings of a strong body. But, most of all, she still saw the messy single braid that never seemed to be tamed, that never seemed to be kept under control.

And for that, Clarke was thankful.

“You work her too hard, Jorda,” Clarke said as the man sat down beside her in a vacated spot.

“You asked for it,” he laughed quietly. “She asked for it,” and he gestured to Jessa who simply grumbled through her sleep. “So I delivered.”

“You did,” and Clarke wrapped an arm around Jessa’s shoulders as the girl’s mind began to embrace the fatigue.

“She does well,” Jorda said a little more carefully as he raised a hand to catch Ten’s attention who wove her way through those that sat around the fire.

“Yeah,” and Clarke smiled a little at the stories Jessa had told her about, of the new skills she had learnt on horseback, of the distance she was able to cover in less and less time. “She’s enjoying it.”

“Here,” Ten interrupted quietly, hand holding out a small beaker of drink warm to the touch.

“What is it?” Clarke asked as she eyed the deep red of the liquid, as she took in its scents.

“Traders arrived,” Ten said as she lifted her chin into the distance. “They bring new drink from the east.”

“Ah,” and Clarke eyed its contents for a moment longer before she brought the beaker to her lips and drank.

And the drink was warm, its scents seemed to border on the bitter, on the fruity and earthy, and she couldn’t quite place it upon her tongue, but she was sure it reminded her of something, but what, she couldn’t recall.

“It’s nice,” she said to no one in particular, but she heard quiet murmurings of agreement from the few that heard, and as she looked around she saw many others with their own cups.

“The traders bring news of the Commander,” Ten began after a moment, and Clarke didn’t quite know what she felt tickling the back of her mind at that. “She travels the clans, she wishes to reassure and to reestablish order after the chaos,” and Ten shrugged.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Clarke asked as she looked into the distance to find the traders Ten had mentioned making their way through the darkness and to the fire.

“I do not think it is a bad idea,” Ten countered, and Clarke couldn’t help but to roll her eyes. “But it will take her many months to see to all the clans.”

“Do you know how many she has been to already?” Jorda asked

“The traders say she leaves Shallow Valley soon. That she has been to Broad Leaf, Glowing Forest, Boat and Trikru.”

“Then we will be last,” someone else added, and Ten nodded at the words.

“Yes,” Ten said with a shrug. “We will be seen last.”

But through the conversation that had passed from person to person, Clarke found that her attention had been pulled to the traders, to those that approached, to the weary, the tired and the foreign.

And it had barely taken her a moment, it had barely taken her a second, but she was sure she recognised one of the traders from years earlier, from when she had first set out, when she had first met Ten and Jorda, when they had stopped by the snaking river through the lands and had come across a group of traders.

But perhaps above all that, Clarke knew she recognised one of them from a different time, from a different life.

And the man’s gaze met hers over the distance, and she knew she saw his own confusion, his own recognition and his own understanding that seemed to be kept hidden behind a bearded face and a proud nose.

Clarke thought she sensed his nod, she thought she sensed his own understanding in the short few seconds that passed between them both, and she knew she couldn’t blame him, and she was sure his life had taken the same paths that hers had taken.

If only because they had left their people, if only because they had found somewhere else to call home.

And so Clarke raised her beaker slightly, she let it hang in the air for just a moment and she smiled a wan smile as she lowered it and let whatever understandings they both had be shared for a short and quiet moment.

 

* * *

 

The fire crackled and danced its shadows across the wall, the smoke rose and twisted its wisps upwards as it reached for the stars that Clarke knew to be shining outside, and she watched as an ember flickered and floated through the air. And she didn’t quite know what to do, she didn’t know what to think, what to say. But she was sure life was telling her that time had come now, she was sure the days and months and years she had stolen had come, had arrived with the traders, had merely waited, bided its time until she couldn’t hide away anymore.

Or maybe not, maybe it was simply her guilt having been brought to the surface after so many years learning to control it, to understand it, to accept it.

And perhaps Clarke couldn’t be blamed for feeling her fingers tremble, perhaps she couldn’t even be blamed for the tears she felt wet her cheeks, that she felt burrow down her face.

But the sounds of furs rustling, the sounds of quiet whimpering broke her own pain.

And so Clarke pulled her gaze from the fire, she pulled her gaze from its blinding intensity and she searched for the hurt she heard.

And Clarke watched as Jessa’s face scrunched, she watched as her eyebrows quirked together and she watched as the girl’s eyes twisted and screamed under closed eyelids.

And it always hurt to see the pain on the girl’s face, it always hurt to see the anguish and memories return every night. And so Clarke rose, she felt her legs protest just a little to the movements and she found herself stepping over to Jessa with a quiet concern.

And it was moments like this, it was moments she shared with the girl that made Clarke feel alive, that made her feel less like the broken shell of a person she was sure she had once been. And so Clarke let her fingers smooth away the worry creasing across Jessa’s face, she let her fingers card through the wild braid, and she let her voice sing out softly and soothingly until she was sure the girl’s thoughts drifted to moments less searing.

But a knock echoed out quietly, and as Clarke looked to the door, as she let the shadows dance around her, she was sure the presence outside was familiar, was something not known to her for years.

And she had expected this, she had known this conversation would come, wouldn’t let itself be forgotten and pushed aside.

“Come in,” she said quietly, her voice only just loud enough that the presence outside would hear.

And Clarke watched as the door opened, as it swung in slowly to reveal the trader, the man, his eyes blinking in the dark of the firelight.

And Clarke took a moment to remember his face, she took a moment to trace the way his nose seemed to cast its own shadow, the way that smirk seemed to never quite leave his lips and the way the corner of his eyes seemed to crease, seemed to speak of laughter, of life and years spent filled with pain and loss and love and life.

“Almost everyone thinks you’re dead, Clarke,” he said, and Clarke looked away, she tried to hold back the tears and the guilt and the years of hurt.

But most of all, Clarke knew she felt responsible for whatever anguish her friends had felt, whatever sorrow her mother had felt.

“Maybe I am dead,” Clarke said as she felt her hand begin to soften against Jessa’s hair once more, the motion unconscious and unthought.

“I understand, you know,” and the man stayed by the door, a hand tucked into a pocket as he scuffed his boot against the doorframe for a moment.

“You can come in,” Clarke whispered, and she saw him smile once, she saw him look around.

“I don’t want to intrude,” and he gestured between them both, the motion older, less known to her.

“You won’t,” and perhaps Clarke had longed for a companion, for someone who had perhaps known what it was like to feel lost, to feel trapped.

And so he sighed, pushed off from the doorframe and stepped inside.

And Clarke watched as he closed the door behind him, she watched as he found a place opposite her, the fire the only shield to keep them both a little warm for the night.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, and she saw him think, she saw him ponder and remember.

“Wherever life took me,” he said and he sighed, his eyes falling to Jessa’s head that lay cradled in Clarke’s lap.

“She’s not mine,” Clarke said, uncertain now of how to explain.

“Yeah,” and he shrugged. “I could tell,” and she watched as he looked away, as he searched for the words to say. “But she’s yours, as much as you’re hers.”

“We both needed each other,” and it was the truth, it was simple.

“She’s why you stayed away?” and Clarke didn’t hear any malice, any resentment. Just understanding.

“Yes,” and Clarke found herself smiling just a little at a memory that seemed to take hold.

“I’m a trader,” he said after a moment though, and Clarke had guessed as much from the company he kept.

“I figured,” and she saw him smile again.

“After being blamed for everything,” and she saw him frown just for a moment. “And yeah,” he shrugged. “Some of it was my fault,” and he looked back to her. “A lot of it.”

“We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of,” Clarke countered, and perhaps she found herself understanding, too.

“Still,” he turned his gaze to the fire. His mouth opened then, and she saw him think of whether to say, whether to voice whatever it was. “When I went back for the first time, when I tried to trade,” and she saw him laugh just a little, the sound warm and soothing to her frayed mind. “Raven wanted to keep me there, wanted to have me punished.”

“Can you blame her?” Clarke asked.

“No,” he smiled wanly. “I can’t.”

And Clarke found her own thoughts turning sombre, turning longing.

“How is she?” and Clarke tried to remember the last memory she had of the woman, of the way she had been drilled into, the way her leg hadn’t quite been the same.

“She wears a brace,” and the man grit his teeth, the motion speaking of regret. “But from the times I’ve been back she isn’t letting it get in her way,” and he paused for long enough that it spoke to some often pondered burden. “I tried giving her a lot of things for free,” and he grimaced a little at the memory, “to say sorry, to try to apologise,” and Clarke found herself nodding.

“She didn’t take it, did she?”

“No,” and he shrugged again. “She refused, told me she wasn’t a cripple, that she’d make a fair trade, that she wouldn’t accept any charity or take pity.”

“She’s strong.”

“She is,” he agreed.

Jessa grimaced once more though, and Clarke found herself singing out to the girl once more, she found herself trying to soothe the demons.

“Abby still has hope,” he said and Clarke found herself grimacing, she found herself looking away, and she knew she felt the pain as she bit a little too hard into her lip.

“I never meant to hurt anyone,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what else to say.

“I know,” and his head tilted just a little in thought and Clarke was sure he tried to think of a way to change the subject, to change the mood to something less bleak. “What’s her name?” he asked, and Clarke looked up to see him eyeing the sleeping girl.

“Jessa,” and Clarke hummed again as the girl’s pain seemed to ebb just a bit.

“We’ve been thinking about having our own,” he said after a moment, and he shrugged as he looked away. “My partner and I. But travelling, the constant moving about,” He sighed. “It’s not good for raising a child.”

“You’ve always got time,” Clarke challenged.

“Yeah,” and he smiled a little less fully. “But maybe after everything that’s happened,” But he paused for a moment, “I don’t really trust how much time I’ve got left.”

“Doesn’t that just mean you shouldn’t wait?”

He laughed quietly at that, and despite their shared experiences, having someone sitting in front of her who she had known before the worst of times seemed to be what she needed in the moment.

“That’s what Emori says, you know?”

“Can you blame her?”

“No,” and he smiled again, and this time Clarke thought the motion well worn, well loved. “Take care, Clarke,” and she watched as he rose, as he began to move to the door.

“You too,” and Clarke saw him pause for a moment at the door, she saw him look around her small room and she saw him think and consider.

“Maybe you should go visit one day,” he said and she knew it to be suggestion, to be an open hand that held no venom or blame or reproach.

“Yeah,” and perhaps the time away had been too long, had been too full of guilt. Had been enough for her to change. “Maybe I will.”

And so Murphy smiled as he lifted a hand in a lonely farewell, and then he let the door close behind him as his footsteps did little more than fade into the wind.


	17. Chapter 17

The quiet grinding of a whetstone against metal echoed out around Clarke. Each scraping sound seemed to linger through the warmth of the room and seemed to take place in every little space it could find.

Clarke’s eyes opened then, and she squinted through the barely there light of a still sleeping sun. And it was cold, it was cool, the red of the covered windows shone pink through the small hut Clarke had called home for years. Clean clothes lay atop the large table in the centre of the room, and the ashen embers of a nighttime fire grouped together in the fireplace.

Clarke’s gaze found Jessa though, and she found herself taking a moment to look upon the girl, to take in the way she frowned a little, the way her hair hadn’t quite been braided the way she liked, and the way her lip was held between teeth as she concentrated.

Jessa ran a whetstone over her small knife, each stroke sending out the quiet grinding that had woken Clarke. And Jessa wore thicker fabrics, ones that were meant for the just slightly colder months that would settle over the plains. The red and browns, amber and yellows of her clothing seemed to make the air around her glow a quiet warmth, that seemed to speak of an innocence that still fought for its right to exist in whatever world it had found itself living in.

Jessa’s small plaything remained tucked into her belt, its stitching frayed, its colour long since faded now, but still, Clarke thought the girl would hold onto it for as long as she could. And Clarke didn’t blame her, she never would blame Jessa for wanting to hold onto whatever small semblance of a lost past that she could.

And so Clarke sat, she shivered to the gentle chill and she stifled a yawn as furs bundled around her waist. Jessa looked up then, she smiled and she waved a small hand before turning her attention back to the knife and whetstone in her lap.

“You’re awake early,” Clarke found herself saying as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jessa answered, her gaze still focused on what she did.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Clarke hummed as she stood and wrapped a fur around bare shoulders.

“I don’t know why,” Jessa said, and Clarke couldn’t quite help but to think something troubled the girl, something had taken hold, taken purchase within her mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clarke said, and she came to a pause by Jessa’s side as she reached out and ran a hand over Jessa’s braided hair softly.

“No,” and Jessa looked away and out through the barest of gaps in the nearest window’s covering.

And perhaps Clarke would push the topic. But later.

“Ok,” and she eyed the knife in Jessa’s hand, she eyed its edge, its shine and its gentle glow.

And moments like this were normal, moments like this were frequent, were longed for, were expected, were shared and loved.

And so Clarke found herself sitting behind Jessa, she found herself running fingers through Jessa’s messy braid, and she found herself humming out a long-gone tune as she let a small brush pull and part and tame the wildness of the girl’s hair.

But perhaps Jessa’s quiet, Jessa’s early waking and her troubles made Clarke think of things she hadn’t quite let herself think about for days, perhaps even weeks or years.

“Hey,” Clarke said, and she let her brush still mid motion as she waited for Jessa’s answer. “I’ve been thinking,” and Clarke looked away in thought, she looked out through the nearest window and she tried to remember the days she had spent alone on the ground.

Jessa hummed a quiet response of acknowledgement.

“Remember when I asked if you wanted to go back, to visit, just for a short while?” Clarke continued.

“Yes,” and Jessa leant back into Clarke’s embrace as the girl yawned.

And Clarke wasn’t quite so sure how to say what she wished to say, she wasn’t even so sure if she wanted to hear Jessa’s answer, but yet, perhaps simply doing was all it took.

And so, “I want to go back,” Clarke was sure her breath come out shuddering, came out uncertain, perhaps even a little fearful. “Not forever,” and Clarke waited for a response, she waited for Jessa’s voice, but what met her was a quiet and a warmth she couldn’t quite describe. “I just—” but still Clarke wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, not now, not when she had dared to voice her uncertainties moments ago.

“Then we’ll go,” and Jessa sat and turned to face her, and Clarke couldn’t help but to blink back whatever tears had seemingly come to be within her gaze.

And as blinked she saw Jessa’s gaze follow a tear that fell down her cheek, she watched as Jessa’s eyes softened, as she smiled and as she reached up and wiped away the pain that Clarke hadn’t quite let herself feel for a long time.

“I go where you go,” Jessa said, and Clarke felt her own smile beginning to break at the edges.

“Ok.”

 

* * *

 

The morning mist filled the clearing, it glowed a deep red, a gentle pink and it filled the lands with the warmth of a rising sun.

Horses of all colours stood side by side, some black as night, some the deepest of browns Clarke had seen, others softer, lighter, fairer in colour. Their breath rose in the morning glow and steam seemed to rise from their bodies with each little shiver that seemed to flow through the horses with each gentle gust of wind. Riders sat atop their horses, too. Each one wore the light reds and browns and yellows of the plains, each person sat silently in watch, sat steadily in wait, and their gazes never quite wavered, never quite shifted far.

Clarke could feel every single eye upon her, she could feel every single gaze that had followed and would continue to follow her every movement.

And perhaps it was fear that had made her do what she was about to do, perhaps it was a longing for something more, perhaps it was even a desire and a wish for others to understand the why of her decision, the how and the reasoning of it.

Clarke let her breath steady, she let her mind clear, and, just for one short moment she let her gaze find Jessa’s somewhere amongst the others, and she made sure their gazes met for long enough that something unspoken, something unvoiced was said, was understood.

Clarke let out the quietest of whistles then, and she let her gaze turn forward as her horse began to move with steady step, each rippling muscle of the beast underneath her sending her slowly forward, each step coming faster and faster.

And she had told Ten, she had told Jorda, she had let others know her decision to leave, at least for a short while, at least so that she could make amends, could right wrongs left wronged.

And perhaps what she did in this moment was her way of saying thank you to the plains, thank you to those who had cared for her, who had welcomed her into their homes.

But most of all, Clarke knew she did what she did in the moment simply to say that she was one of them, that she would not forget, that part of her would always belong to the plains for as long as she continued to live.

And so she let the fiercest of smiles break across her face as the sun’s light streamed down from the sky, as she let it wash her in a blinding glow.

And she rode fast, her hands gripped at the reins of her horse and she let the wind wash away any doubt, any worry, any fear.

The lands flashed by her, a sea of reds, deep and rich, a blur of browns warm, ochre and amber in the light, and so too did the grass seem to come alive with the wind, seem to bend to her presence.

Clarke stood, she hooked her feet into the loops in her saddle and she let her knees take each little swaying of the beast beneath her. And it was moments like this that she imagined what it must be like to fly, to be an eagle, a beast that soared through the air with no worry, no fear, no apprehension of earthly troubles.

And it was with that thought that she reached down, that she snared bow and knocked arrow in one motion.

Clarke knew what would come next and so she turned her gaze upwards, she turned her sight to the far side of the open field and she imagined what it must be like to live without guilt.

The roaring of the wind broke against her then, the sound seemed deafening, and each rumbling gallop seemed to make her sway, make her lean and shift in place where she stood atop her horse.

But she didn’t care, she didn’t consider, didn’t give it one little thought.

And then she heard it.

She heard the twanging in the distance, she heard the whistling, and she saw the shadows that dove over the lands, that arced through the air, that drew sharp breath from her lips.

And Clarke knew timing needed to be perfect, and so she waited for one lurching gallop to pass, for one swaying of the saddle, for one heaving breath her horse took.

And then she leapt.

Clarke let momentum take her, she let her feet propel her up and into the air, and she let her eyes follow the path of the targets as they sailed up, higher and higher and deeper into their arc.

And it happened in a breath.

Clarke’s eyes snapped to the first target, she brought feathered arrow to her lips and she let her heart beat just once.

And she released, she let her first arrow snap forward, she let it fly free, and with it she let her anger subside, she let her anger go.

The second arrow came before even the first had fully left her bow, and with this too, she let herself blink just once in the morning sun’s light, she let her eyes adjust to the shifting of the lands, to the movement of the target, and she drew back on the bow string, she let the creaking of wood settle in her fingers. And then she fired.

She fired the second arrow and with that she thought her anguish and her pain seemed to lessen, she thought her anguish seemed to find a breaking point, seemed to be let free with the snapping of an arrow as it punched through the sky.

But Clarke felt her body begin to descend, she felt gravity take hold and she felt it begin to pull her further and faster to the rushing ground.

And so she drew her third arrow, she let it find its place and she let her gaze follow the first two arrows as they snapped through the sky. 

But with this last arrow she thought something felt different, she thought something felt new, felt changed.

And perhaps she couldn’t quite tell what it was, perhaps she couldn’t quite grasp just what feeling seemed to be taking place within her heart.

But she knew it to be recognised.

And so she stilled her mind for just enough time that she sighted down her last arrow towards the last of the bundles flying through the air and then she fired.

And Clarke hit the ground, she hit the ground with a roll, and she came to her feet running, each leaping bound she took taking her further and further, but she knew that feeling she had felt, she recognised the lightness upon her shoulders, and she recognised just what seemed to have lifted from her mind.

And so Clarke brought her fingers to her lips and she let forth a piercing whistle that echoed out through the clearing.

She heard her horse react to the sound, she heard the barely there break in pace as it turned, as it began to race after her.

And so Clarke ran faster, she ran harder and she turned just enough that she could see its approach from the corner of her eye.

Clarke’s hand reached out then, she let it hang free, and she knew the horse to recognise the order, to recognise the command, and she knew which side it would flash past her.

And so Clarke took just one second to fall into step with her horse as it neared, as its barrel chest stole her vision, as its steaming breath filled her eyes and as its heat seemed to wash her completely.

And then she leapt.

Clarke’s hand snared at one of the loops in her saddle, her fist closed around the worn leather and she let momentum and speed pull her off her feet and swing her up and onto the saddle in one easy and adrenaline fuelled breath.

Clarke knew she had done well, she even knew her arrows had found target, and she thought she sensed an awe and a piercing prickle on the back of her neck that seemed to make her skin crawl and her mind begin to twist and pull in every direction.

She heard Jessa’s cry of joy as it echoed out over the clearing, she heard the approval of the warriors who had watched, she heard the horses that neighed, and she heard the stamping of hoof against hard packed dirt.

But what cut into Clarke’s mind the loudest, what cut into her senses the most fully was the piercing bellow of a horn that rolled out through the valley, that bounced off valley wall and tree, rock and stone, blade of grass and body of water.

And the sound was deep, it was rich, it spoke of history, of battles fought and won, wars lost and survived.

But most of all?

It made Clarke remember the pain, the anger, the hate, the fury and the desperation and heartbreak that she had felt so very long ago.

And so Clarke pulled her horse to a stop, she turned her gaze upwards and outwards, and she found herself staring up the valley wall and to the ridgeline that looked down onto Raska and the surrounding lands.

Riders stood silhouetted against the red of the morning sky, warriors with swords, axes, spears and banners held proudly. Horses stamped their feet and threw their heads and neighed into the early of the day.

But what stole Clarke’s attention, what commanded her vision, what drew her sight was the red sash that seemed to glow, that seemed to burn and shine in the morning light.

And she knew she recognised the woman who sat atop her own horse, whose gaze seemed directed down to her, whose eyes seemed too piercing, too steady, too fierce through the distance.

And what was Clarke to do but turn her back and try not to lose herself to whatever memories came to be remembered?

 

* * *

 

A numbness seemed to be spreading throughout Clarke’s mind. She wasn’t so sure what to think, she wasn’t even so sure what to feel.

And perhaps she had always known this moment would come, perhaps she had always known their paths would cross once more. But perhaps she hadn’t quite considered it for some reason she couldn’t understand. But yet, she knew she had seen her, and she knew she had been seen.

And Clarke didn’t know how long she had spent sitting in the quiet of her home, she didn’t know how long she spent looking into the flickering of the candle’s flame. But she knew it to be long enough that the sun now hung high in the sky, she knew it long enough that Jessa must be in the midst of training with Jorda, and she knew it long enough that she should do more than simply sit and hide.

And those emotions she had felt ebbing from her mind with each arrow fired seemed to have changed, seemed to have hollowed out her heart, each arrow she had fired had seemed to her like an admission of the things she had accepted, and the things she had learnt to overcome. And that understanding had taken her as long as it had taken her to find her way back to her small home. And in that time she had realised that guilt had been the last emotion she let loose. If only because she thought that facing her demons was what she needed to do.

But perhaps she hadn’t quite expected her journey’s end to be here, to be in Raska, to be with the appearance of her.

But that, too, was something Clarke thought unavoidable.

If only because she knew life to be cruel when it wished, unkind, unlucky, ironic at times.

And maybe her appearance was what Clarke had needed to jumpstart the acceptance that her life hadn’t quite turned out the way she had dreamt it would.

And so Clarke sighed forcefully, the breath that left her lips seemed to break roughly, and she thought the sound came out weary, tired, just a little hollow.

But she stood, she let the chair legs scrape just a bit against the wood of the floor and she cast her gaze around her room for just a moment.

She wondered what her past would think of her now though, for she caught herself in the reflection of a glass of dark drink, and she saw the woman who stared back, whose gaze seemed just a little too weary for her liking, whose hair seemed longer than she had ever imagined it would be, whose braids layered past her shoulders, whose red clothed shoulders seemed to glow subtly in the candle light, and whose face seemed thinner, bronzed to the beating of the sun and scarred to the vastness of the plains.

And it was in that moment that Clarke thought she understood truly, that she knew fully what she needed to do.

And Camp Jaha would never come to be her home, it would never come to be a place she thought of as safe, as a sanctuary. But it was a place where her past still lived, a place where her demons still lived, where she needed to visit, at least for her own sanity, at least so that she could lay to rest whatever things she would come to find still remained listless and empty.

But she knew she would return to Raska, that she would return to Ten, to Jorda, to the people that had found her, that had given her a home.

But perhaps most of all, she realised just why she wished for Jessa to come with her. If only so that Jessa could put an end to whatever things she had left unfinished, too. If only so that Jessa wouldn’t have to live through whatever pains Clarke had lived through.

And so, as that thought began to coalesce within Clarke’s mind, she found herself rising, she found herself stepping from her chair and towards the door, towards a future still uncertain.

Clarke’s hand closed around the doorknob, she let the warmth of the wood soothe her fingers.

And the door swung open to reveal the shimmerings of a sun, to reveal the reds and browns and yellows of the plains, of the grasses and rocks and stone that littered the lands.

The door swung open to reveal a breeze, a warmth and a coolness that hid in the shadows, that never broached too far into the sun’s light.

The door swung open to reveal buildings and grasses, people and things she had come to know fondly.

But most of all?

The door swung open to reveal a face Clarke hadn’t dared dream of in years.

“Clarke.”


	18. Chapter 18

Surprise, shock, acceptance, perhaps even expectation all seemed to fill her thoughts, seemed to ran rampantly through her body, through every fibre of her being, and Clarke should have expected this to happen from the very moment she had laid eyes upon the woman who had sent her life down a path she had and could never have anticipated.

Lexa stood before her, and she seemed familiar, seemed as constant as she had always been, but, Clarke felt a difference exist, she thought she sensed the subtleties in which Lexa had changed, had evolved and become more than what she had once been.

But maybe Clarke simply imagined.

For the woman’s gaze remained ever stoic, ever guarded in the day’s light, her braids still wove and twisted and grew through her hair with a life of their own, and even the subtle blurriness of absent dark warpaint seemed to cling to the wrinkles that just barely lined the woman’s eyes.

But perhaps what Clarke saw foremost was the way the woman’s gaze seemed to drink in every little thing she must have been taking in before her.

And Clarke saw Lexa’s gaze move from her eyes and to the braids that wove through her own hair, she saw Lexa’s gaze narrow to the scar that etched itself across the left side of her forehead, that followed her hairline and dipped into her eyebrow. And she saw Lexa’s gaze move across her face and Clarke wondered just what the woman saw, she wondered if she saw the same person who had shared a stolen breath, she wondered if she saw the same youth, the same hapless awe, and Clarke wondered if Lexa saw someone different, someone broken, someone aged and weathered and beaten to life on the ground.

“I thought you dead.”

Lexa’s words cut through her revelry and her ponderings, and Clarke didn’t quite know what to say to that, what to think, how even to respond.

But Lexa’s gaze moved across her face once more before darting for the briefest of moments passed her and into the room Clarke had come to call home. Clarke was sure Lexa took in the clothes, the trinkets, the belongings and the life that had existed, and perhaps Clarke even sensed the very moment Lexa registered that two people’s belongings existed within the four walls, she was sure she could pinpoint the moment thoughts began to roar through Lexa’s mind, of things not for her to have, of acceptances and understandings, perhaps even longings.

Or maybe not.

If only because Clarke didn’t see anything in the other woman’s eyes other than the stillness of guarded thought.

“Here I am,” Clarke said, and she watched as Lexa’s eyes snapped back to her.

And Clarke didn’t know whether she felt an anger or a hollow ache beginning to form in her chest as she let herself recall the last time they had laid eyes upon each other. But she felt the embers beginning to burn, beginning to rise, beginning to take hold of her senses, of her thoughts.

But she didn’t think she had come to Raska, she didn’t think she had left behind everyone she had known, and she didn’t think she had hidden herself to her past merely to fall to victim to old haunts, or to become guilt’s prey once more.

And so Clarke looked passed Lexa to see Ryder standing not far from them, the man’s face now scarred, his gaze a little more open in its inquisitiveness as he took in what stood before him.

“I—” Lexa’s words broke on her lips, they seemed to be stolen from her only to die somewhere between them both.

And the absence of words, of them both not quite knowing what to say would have been funny, would have been humorous if they had been more than what they had become.

But they weren’t.

And so Clarke looked away as she tried to think of what to do or say to make the awkwardness disappear.

“Do you want to come in?” Clarke said instead of what her memories told her to say.

Lexa’s gaze narrowed then, and Clarke was sure Lexa didn’t even fully mean for them to do so as she took another glance into the room.

“I do not wish to intrude,” and Clarke watched as whatever walls had begun to topple were erected once more, as thoughts were hidden behind a facade she had grown to recognise.

“You won’t,” and Clarke took a measured step back and further into her home as she held the door open, as she tried not to let the shaking of her fingers show too easily.

But she knew Lexa sensed the unease, the uncertainty, and she knew, too, that Lexa must have felt the same, if only because she thought it impossible for the woman to not feel what she felt in the moment.

And so Lexa turned and nodded to Ryder for a brief moment before she turned back and cast her gaze through the room for another long breath.

Lexa entered into the room with careful step, each pace she took slow and deliberate as she continued to take in whatever things she saw, and Clarke watched as Lexa’s gaze fell to her bow that lay across the table, she watched as Lexa’s gaze moved to the bed hidden behind red stained fabric, she watched as Lexa took in the basket of old clothes, dirtied to the days of riding. And Clarke continued to watch with careful intrigue as Lexa’s gaze fell to the folded clothes that lay apart from the dirtied ones, to the clothes that had been folded, to the reds and browns and yellows of the fabric, to the lighter scarves, to the heavier robes, to the flowing cloth that would sing through the breeze with each galloping step of a horse.

But most of all? Clarke was sure Lexa’s gaze fell to the two sets of clothes, to hers that were larger, and to those that were smaller, for someone younger in body and in mid.

And Lexa’s gaze followed a path through the room’s interior as she continued to take in every little detail that she saw, and Clarke found herself watching, found herself trying to understand or to spy upon her face whatever thoughts must have been forming and taking hold of the woman’s mind.

For just one last second, Clarke saw Lexa’s gaze land upon the boots that stood by the door, one pair larger, well worn, the other pair smaller, as equally worn and battered to the days of use, and perhaps for the very first time Clarke thought she saw a crack in Lexa’s facade, in her shield, in the wavering of her steady gaze.

But Lexa’s gaze snapped back to hers as quickly as it had always done, and perhaps Clarke thought she had merely wished to see whatever things she believed she saw. If only because the woman who looked back seemed to be just as she was the first time they had met and spoken and traded threat and insult and plea.

“Sit,” Clarke said as she gestured to one of the chairs by the table, and she waited for just one moment longer before sitting in her own chair as Lexa mirrored her movements.

Lexa’s mouth opened then, sound stilled for the fleetest of seconds before she seemed to steady herself before speaking.

“Trikru scouts searched for you,” and Clarke looked away as Lexa’s gaze seemed to drill into her.

“They didn’t find me,” Clarke said, and she had guessed as much, she had known someone would have searched, would have tried to find her.

“They did,” Lexa countered, and Clarke looked back to see the woman’s gaze remain as steady as she hoped her own was.

“They did?” and Clarke didn’t quite know what to think of the conversation that seemed to be forming between them both.

“They followed your trail through Trikru lands, through the forests and to the Plains Riders border,” but at that Lexa paused, she looked away, she seemed to not quite be able to let her words speak, to let her thoughts be voiced.

“I fell,” and Clarke guessed that was where her trail had been lost.

“You fell,” and Lexa’s voice came out quiet and careful.

“I fell,” Clarke repeated as she remembered the fall, as she remembered the tumble, the pain, the blood, the aches in her shoulder that never quite faded. “It’s where I got this,” and she gestured to the side of her head, to the scar across her temple, that followed her hairline to her ear before cutting back to her eyebrow.

Lexa’s gaze traced the scar then, and Clarke couldn’t quite tell what seemed to exist within Lexa’s eyes. But perhaps she thought talking would do more to heal whatever angers and regrets and anguishes seemed to be slowly and surely finding purchase within her heart.

“It’s where—”

The door opening interrupted her words, the scrape of wood against wood and the thud of feet coming to pause at the door’s threshold silenced whatever thought Clarke was about to let free.

And she looked past Lexa and to the door to see Jessa standing in the doorway, the girl’s eyes glaring at Lexa with a suspicion, her hair braided much the way Clarke had always done her own, and her eyes flashing in the afternoon’s light as the sun began to settle lower and lower in the sky.

“Jessa,” and Clarke stood, eyes snapping to Jorda to stood aside, the man not so sure of what to do that the Commander sat before him, that one of the Commander’s guards eyed him with a keen suspicion.

“Apologies Heda,” Jorda said quietly as he bowed his head. “I did not realise you were here. I will take Jessa,” and he reached out and took Jessa by the shoulder and began to pull her away.

Clarke found herself sitting back down as she watched Lexa’s mind organise thought, and she wondered whether she should explain, whether she should try to, and maybe some shallow part of her wished to leave things unexplained, to cause Lexa as much confusion, as much uncertainty as possible.

But Clarke thought those things impolite, she thought those things unkind, not so right.

“Jessa,” Clarke paused, not so sure how to explain the girl. “She’s—”

“Your daughter,” and Lexa’s eyes seemed to harden, seemed to accept.

But Clarke thought daughter not quite the best way to explain, not quite the best way to describe. And yet again, if things weren’t as they were between them, if things had never been soured, Clarke was sure she would have found Lexa’s claim of daughter just a little humorous. If only because the years she had been gone, and Jessa’s age didn’t quite line up.

“She’s family,” Clarke said instead, and she watched as Lexa nodded just slightly, as she seemed to let Clarke’s words fill her thoughts yet again.

They fell into silence once more, and not for the first time Clarke thought it strange that their reunion of sorts seemed less explosive, seemed less filled with anger but rather seemed muted, seemed at odds with the past that they both shared.

But maybe it was simply shock that seemed to temper the emotions she knew to be burning beneath the surface.

“Your people are well,” Lexa said then, and Clarke couldn’t help but to wince at that, she couldn’t help but to feel a guilt beginning to take hold somewhere in her body.

“I—” but Clarke didn’t quite know what to say.

“You do not need to explain to me,” and Lexa’s words came out quietly, they came out sure and certain and full of honesty.

And so Clarke found herself nodding, she found herself wrapping arms around herself, and she found herself trying to stop whatever wetness she felt beginning to well in the corners of her eyes escape.

“How’s my mother?” she asked, and she knew her voice to come out a little smaller than she had felt in eons.

“She is well,” Lexa said, and Clarke looked back to Lexa to see the woman still looking at her with a quiet turmoil that seemed to broach upon fear, that seemed to border desperation. “She believes you still live.”

And at that Clarke couldn’t help but to feel a tear begin to fall, begin to wend its way down her cheek and leave behind a valley of pain she didn’t quite turn or shy from.

“And everyone else?” Clarke found herself whispering. “Bellamy? Raven? Octavia?”

 _And_ _everyone else she left behind._

“They are well,” Lexa continued, her voice softening just a little at the edges. “Bellamy fought for the Coalition during the Azgeda war,” and Lexa took a moment to silence her thoughts, and Clarke didn’t quite know what the other woman considered. “As did many Skaikru,” she continued. “Arkadia grows, your people continue to thrive under my care, they continue to learn and to adapt to life on the ground.”

“They aren’t my people,” Clarke said, and she saw Lexa’s eyes close for a moment, and perhaps if Clarke let herself look for a longer moment, she was sure she sensed the woman reprimand herself, she was sure she sensed the clenching of a jaw and the whitening of fingers that lay atop the table. “Not anymore,” Clarke finished.

And so Lexa nodded, she seemed to let herself understand, and Clarke was sure Lexa had understood the words she couldn’t say herself.

Silence seemed to stretch out between them both then, and Clarke sat in her chair as she tried to think of what to say, what she should say to lessen the awkward stench that filled the space between them. But through it all, she knew she couldn’t quite bring up the shadow and the ghost and the demon that seemed to loom over her shoulder, that seemed to cast Lexa’s face in a smearing of black warpaint and dirt and blood that dripped down fearsome cheeks.

And she didn’t think bringing up such a thing so soon was wise, she didn’t even think she wished to ever relive, to ever experience the pain again. Or perhaps she was simply a coward who wasn’t strong enough to face her demons.

“I will not stay long,” Lexa said after a too quiet stretch of time. “I return to Polis soon,” and Clarke nodded.

“I—” but once more Clarke found herself not so sure of what she wished to say. But as she let herself take in the barely there spark of light within Lexa’s gaze, she found herself thinking she knew just what Lexa wished for her to say. “I didn’t think you’d stay long,” and she saw the glimmer fade as quietly as it had appeared.

And so Lexa nodded just once more before she stood, her gaze just briefly taking in the room around her.

“You are busy,” she said. “I will not continue to take your time.”

 

* * *

 

The fire crackled and burned with each little gust of wind that took breath through the plains. The night was dark, and the moon seemed to sit slightly lower in the sky than it had done in months. Its light bathed the small clearing awash in the pale of its light, and even the grass seemed to shy from its presence, each little blade seemingly bending to the nearest shadow it could find.

“Sorry,” Clarke said as Jessa winced at a pull from the brush through her hair.

“It’s ok,” Jessa answered with a shrug and a yawn as she held her hand out to the fire that continued to burn.

And so Clarke let her eyes take in the embers that drifted on the wind as she continued pulling the brush through Jessa’s hair, the quiet noise of conversation that flowed from tired mouth to tired mouth joining with the wind as it filled the air in a cocoon of whispered words.

Jorda and Ten sat beside them, both of them happy to take in the ease of the night, warm drink in hand as they added to whatever conversation seemed to exist around them.

And Clarke had been told that the Commander had been in meeting with the village elders, with those in charge, who were responsible for the lives of all those that lived within Raska. Even Ten had been present, the woman trusted enough and known to the Commander from times in the past to be present during the meetings.

And Clarke had some uncertain feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could have been present had she wished, had she so desired, but after everything that had happened in her past, she didn’t truly wish to ever be put in such a position again.

And so she had sought out Jessa, she had sought out Jorda, both of them in the midst of exercise with horse, in how to dismount steed much larger than Jessa had ever ridden before.

Clarke had laughed quietly as she had laid eyes upon Jessa as she tried to swing herself up, she had even slapped her palm to her forehead as Jessa’s foot had kicked out in surprise and shock as she had almost found purchase only to fall and knock the heel of her boot against Jorda’s chin.

But most of all, Clarke had let the laugh fill her lungs as she let herself take in the sight before her.

If only because she thought those moments precious and too fleeting.

At least in comparison to the memories she had found slowly beginning to resurface.

Jessa had asked of the Commander, too, she had had her suspicions, her questions and her uncertainties, and Clarke had answered them with a simple

W _e had known each other once upon a time._

And for Jessa that had been enough, that had been all she needed to sway any further questioning. At least for the moment.

And so Clarke now found herself sharing in the company of friend and acquaintance, of conversation, hot flame, cold wind and warm drink.

But through it all, she knew Ten seemed to have sensed or at least half guessed the past that both Clarke and the Commander had shared.

And Clarke knew the other woman would never bring it up, would never touch upon a subject without more overt approval, and for that Clarke was thankful, was happy and appreciative.

“When do you leave?” and Clarke looked up to find Jorda looking at her carefully, his gaze soft in the fire light, his words quiet in the night.

“Soon,” Clarke shrugged, and she wrapped her arms around Jessa’s shoulders as the girl shivered just a little.

“You are sure you do not wish for others to travel with you?” Jordapressed lightly, and Clarke knew the man simply worried for their safety over the lands.

“No,” and Clarke smiled at him for a moment. “We’ll be fine. There hasn’t been any sign of bandits for years now. Not with the Coalition as strong as it is,” and Clarke reached out and squeezed Jorda’s shoulder. “Plus,” and she gestured to the slowly nodding off Jessa. “I wouldn’t let your favourite student skip out on the rest of her lessons, would I?”

“No,” and Jorda seemed to relax just a little. “You would not.”

And so Clarke smiled a little more freely as conversation began to flow between those that sat around the fire as tomorrow’s worries were cast aside for the night.

 

* * *

 

The wind whistled through her hair, the night seemed to swallow her whole, and the cold seemed to make every joint and bone and scar that littered her body ache and protest even the slightest of movements.

But Lexa’s gaze remained cast down to the valley below, down to the lights of the camp fires, to those that still mingled around burning flame, to those that wove through the valley by torch light, and to those that slept in quiet dwelling in the depths of village Raska.

And Lexa wasn’t so sure why she stood atop the precipice, she wasn’t sure why she sought the company of the plains, she didn’t even know why she let herself feel the cold as much as she now did.

Even Ryder didn’t quite understand her need to stand alone, but she knew his concerns would remain unvoiced as he kept watch a careful distance, his gaze, she was sure, moving to every flickering shadow that seemed to breathe through the grass and rock and stone surrounding them.

But why Lexa stood alone at the valley ridgeline, she thought she knew if she truly let herself feel.

And she had stood and had looked down into the valley, she had let her gaze fall to the camp her warriors had set just aside from village Raska, she had laid eyes upon her own mighty war tent, and she had let herself take in the movements of her warriors as they moved, ant-like and small through the distance.

But most of all? She had sought out the ridgeline, if only so that she could look upon weakness in the solitude and the quiet and the privacy of the night.

And so she embraced the dark of the night as she continued to watch the small head of golden hair that shimmered a mighty red to the fire that warmed those sitting around it.

And Lexa had lost count of the seconds, of the minutes and the hours she must have spent looking down upon a woman she had thought taken her own life for actions she had done, for actions she had caused.

And she tried to relearn every little imperfection upon the face she knew now would never leave her be. And so too, did she know that a regret would always live within her, and it was a regret for the duty she had to her people, a regret for the actions she had taken, the decisions and choices she had made. But perhaps above all? If she was honest with herself, if she was truthful? It was a regret for the life she had let slip through her fingers, it was a regret for a life of love, of laughter, of comfort and of sharing with another.

And Lexa hadn’t pried, she hadn’t asked question or let her curiosity and want be let free.

But how she had wanted to ask Clarke so many things, how she had wished to voice her thoughts, to learn, to understand and to know.

And Clarke had seemed so very different to the girl she had first seen, who had stepped into her tent with fire in her eyes, with determination upon her face.

And Clarke had seemed so very different to the woman she had become at the foot of the Mountain, whose uncertainty and confusion, pain and anger at the words she said would always exist within her mind.

And Lexa had wanted to ask her how she had gotten the scar that followed her hairline, that dipped into her eyebrow, she had wanted to know how she had learnt to ride horse with the skill of any born of the plains, she had wanted to ask how she had learnt to shoot arrow and wield bow with such ability.

And Lexa had wanted to ask so many selfish questions when she had first taken step into Clarke’s home. She had wanted to ask who the other person must have been, how old, who the father was, what the child’s name was, how much Clarke had loved, had cared for and reared with a nurture she was sure the woman possessed.

And when she had laid eyes upon the girl whose hair was braided the same, whose glare even fell across her face in the same way and whose chin levelled, whose lips pursed the same, she had wished to know the answers to all her questions.

And even the way the girl’s hands clenched by her sides had mirrored that of Clarke. And still, Lexa had wished to know all those things, despite the realisation that the girl was not of Clarke’s blood.

But, despite that, she had known the girl to be daughter, as she had known the woman to be mother.

And so regret was what filled Lexa’s mind with each passing second.

Regret was what filled each hollow breath.

And regret was what filled each empty beat of her heart.


	19. Chapter 19

It was still quiet and cold when Clarke stepped out from her home. The sun had only just begun to rise in the distance, its rays had barely just begun to cut through the morning mist, and even its heat seemed to linger hidden below the horizon, as if i, too, was still existing somewhere between just beyond wakefulness.

Clarke took in a deep breath, she let her lungs fill and she let her mind settle and she let her thoughts turn to the things soon to come. She felt Jessa come to a pause by her side then, and she felt the girl shiver to the cold.

“Ready?” Clarke asked, and she let her voice drift upon the wind as it seemed to pick and choose when and where it flowed through the village.

“Yes,” Jessa said after a moment.

And so Clarke stepped forward, she let the door close behind them both and she hitched her bag higher onto her shoulders as she began to take step further and further from her home.

And Clarke had wanted to leave before the sun had fully settled in the sky, she had wanted to make the most of the daylight that they could for the first part of their journey, and she knew, to that she wished to leave behind whatever shadows had begun to appear at the corners of her vision with the Commander’s arrival.

Jessa had been happy to pack, too, she had been eager, had been apprehensive, had even been wary and delighted at the chance to travel, at the chance to move through the lands with a freedom not had since Azgeda’s violent’s actions.

But most of all, Clarke was sure the girl wanted to visit her old people, her old home, at least to touch base, to see how life had continued since the Mountain’s fall.

And Clarke knew she would be lying if she said she didn’t long for those same things. At least a little.

And so she continued to walk forward, thumbs hooked into the straps of her bag as they both continued to make their way through Raska, as they continued to nod to those they passed, wave when needed, smile and offer quiet greeting to each familiar face they passed.

But Clarke also saw Trikru warriors, she saw those who must have traveled with the Commander, who must have taken an opportunity to meet with new people, to reconnect with old friends, to explore the unknown and to relearn the known.

But that, too, made Clarke’s skin prickle just little, just enough that she tried not to linger on the darkest of her thoughts.

She had never truly believed herself to have banished those very thoughts fully from her mind for she had many a time woken to a cold sweat, she had woken to nightmares, she had woken to pains and regrets, but she had thought herself accustomed to them, she had thought herself familiar and in control of the things that had haunted her.

But perhaps she thought that the appearance of people she had once known had merely woken whatever demons, had caused them to stir, to shift, to brave her consciousness once more.

Or maybe not.

And maybe not. If only because she didn’t think what she felt was like what she had once felt, what she had once seen and spoken to and relived. Maybe it was simply life’s way of telling her she could run no longer, that she could hide no more, and that she would need to face her past with steady mind and iron will. If only so that she could lay to rest what she had done.

“What are you thinking about?”

Clarke looked down to see Jessa eyeing her carefully, the girl’s hair back in a messy braid, her eyes squinting passed the rising sun.

“Not much,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what to say.

“The past,” Jessa offered with a quiet understanding that Clarke wished the girl never had to know.

“Yeah,” and Clarke found herself looking away for a moment. “I’ve stayed away too long,” and she thought it only fair that she try to explain things to Jessa, if only because they had been together for years, had relied on each other, had cared for and protected and nurtured the other at differing times.

“It will be good to go back, to see our old people,” and Jessa nodded to herself as she hitched her own bag higher onto her shoulders.

“It will be,” and Clarke returned Jessa’s confidence smile with her own. “And you’ll have to show me everything Jorda’s been teaching you,” she continued. “And you’ll practise, too,” Clarke laughed as Jessa mimed a gag. “He’ll expect you to be better when we return than when we leave.”

“What if I’m too tired to practise after hunting?” Jessa protested, but from the way her eyes sparkled, Clarke knew the girl’s words to be full of jest and tease.

“Then you’ll just have to learn how to practise asleep.”

Jessa scoffed at that, and Clarke laughed a little more loudly as the girl kicked at a loose rock before them.

But the light banter seemed to dissipate no sooner than it had started, and what seemed to be left in its wake was a careful pressure building within Clarke’s mind, and she knew that Jessa felt it too from the way she began to chew on her lip and run a thumb over her small toy tucked into her belt.

“It’ll be good,” Clarke said, and she didn’t quite know what she spoke of.

“Yeah,” Jessa agreed quietly. “It will be.”

 

* * *

 

The stables of Raska were grand, they were larger than the largest buildings Clarke had ever seen in Ton DC, and they were magnificent.

Rows upon rows of large stalls lined each side of the stables, some empty, some taken by great horse, by small foal or mighty stallion. many stalls were opened for the horses to roam freely, to move through the stables and into the large clearing behind the stables that was lined by one of the many snaking rivers that glinted through the lands and spooled out into the lake behind Raska.

It didn’t surprise Clarke to find warriors already in the stables, some caring for their horses, others happy to share in the company of friendly beast and shared conversation.

And it also didn’t surprise Clarke to find Ten and Jorda standing before them, both of them talking quietly.

“Hey,” Clarke said, and she heard Jessa offer her own greeting as they came to a pause before Ten and Jorda.

“Good morning,” Ten said, and Clarke couldn’t help but to notice the woman’s gaze seemed just a little worried.

“You shouldn’t worry,” Clarke said as she reached a hand out and squeezed Ten’s shoulder.

“I can not help it,” Ten shrugged, and Clarke knew Ten only worried because she cared. “Your horses are ready,” she said as she stepped aside and gestured to the large horses already saddled and readied for travel, larger travel packs already tied and secured for the long journey.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Clarke said, and she glanced briefly to Jessa whose face showed signs of relief that she wouldn’t have to prepare the horses herself.

“We wished to do it,” Jorda answered, and Clarke saw him wink at Jessa who smiled up at him as she took a step forward and to the smaller of the two horses.

“I know you do not need company during your travels,” Ten said after a moment, and Clarke watched as the woman stooped down and picked up a pack that had laid hidden by her. “But we will accompany you until river Issou turns east,” and Ten stood and pulled a braid lock of hair behind her ear. “It is time we scouted our borders again.”

 

* * *

 

And so that was how Clarke and Jessa’s journey through the plains began. And it began with a thought building within Clarke’s mind that she ran from her past, that she ran to a future, and that she shied away from truths that still slept within the confines of a too large tent that stood erected just beyond Raska’s village limits.

And through it all Clarke couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she missed something, that she had left words and things left unsaid between herself and the Commander. But yet she didn’t know what else to say, what more she could do. Or perhaps she did and she had simply pushed aside the truth of her actions yet again.

But for now she was happy enough to have accepted just one wrong she thought she should right, and so too, did she think that perhaps she would do something about that later, at a time when she had space to process, at a time where she could say that she was ready. But maybe she would never be ready. Never be truly comfortable with how things had played out.

And yet, she found herself not quite wishing for things to change. Not when she rode through the plains atop horse, not when Jessa rode beside her, not when Ten and Jorda flanked them both, not when other riders caught up, and not when they had ridden for two days before coming to the bend in the river that would send Clarke and Jessa towards a place they hadn’t seen in years.

And so it was then that Ten waved one last farewell, it was then that Jorda slid off his horse and squeezed Jessa’s knee with a smile, and was then that Clarke nodded, had said that she would return soon only for Ten to tell her to take as much time as she needed and that their home would be waiting.

“So,” and Clarke looked out over the lands, to the sun as it continued its path down towards the sleeping horizon, to the barely there trees that dotted the lands, and to the reds and browns, to the yellows and oranges of the grass and dirt, rock and stone and shimmering haze of the plains. “Are you ready?”

And Jessa hummed a quiet response atop her horse, she let the sound fill the space between them, and Clarke was sure the girl took a moment to appreciate the emptiness of the lands just as she did so, and she was also sure that Jessa seemed to ponder, seemed to consider whatever might lie in wait for them both.

“I’m ready,” Jessa said with a smile as she met Clarke’s gaze.

“Good,” Clarke said, and she turned her horse to the horizon, she clicked her tongue and she let the wind begin to breathe through her hair. “Lets find a place to camp before the night comes.”

 

* * *

 

Following river Issou through the lands was the easiest of ways of making it further and further east through the plains. And not for the first time Clarke found herself just a little embarrassed at having left the river all those years ago, of having not followed its snaking path through the lands. If only because it would have saved her minutes and hours and days and nights of anguish.

But really, she couldn’t be blamed for not knowing what she knew now. And so she turned her attention elsewhere, she turned her attention to the lands, to the plains that, with each passing day, seemed to be turning ever so slightly from the reds of what she had come to love, to the greens of memories, to the browns of sleepless nights, and to the shimmerings of trees in the greatest of distances.

Clarke even found herself regaling Jessa with stories of her life on the Ark, of her life before the ground, of what it was like, or perhaps not quite. If only because Clarke never quite broached upon topics that stung a little too fiercely, that bled a little too raw, that ached a little too fully. But Jessa didn’t seem to mind, she didn’t seem to care, if only because she listened with wondered intent, she gasped when needed, laughed and clapped as loudly as she could as Clarke found herself laughing to older times with distant friends.

And not for the first time Clarke found herself realising that Jessa had helped her more than she had ever expected the girl to have helped. And Clarke thought it because the girl continued to stay by her side without judgement.

And for yet another time, Clarke knew herself to be more thankful than she could ever repay. But, she thought that caring, that guarding, that ensure Jessa had as much of a chance at a life full of happiness and love as possible was the very least she could strive to do.

 

* * *

 

“Elbow up, Jessa,” Clarke said as she made sure her voice didn’t carry too far over the wind.

Jessa grunted at that, and Clarke knew the girl to be struggling with the larger bow.

“Nice easy breaths,” Clarke continued, and she waited as Jessa’s breathing slowed, as her mind began to settle.

The water continued to trickle and flow between their feet, the sun continued to beat down carefully as it set over the horizon, and the fish that still swam to and fro through the river seemed to do so with little worry or care for the danger that was close.

Clarke saw a larger fish beginning to circle closer and closer, its shape bringing ripples across the water’s surface as it swam in a lazy path towards them as bait drew it closer.

Clarke knew Jessa saw it though because the girl’s arm shifted just a little, and so Clarke found herself holding breath just as much as Jessa did.

And it wasn’t that they would run out of food any time soon, but eating root soup, no matter how well spiced, would soon drive Clarke crazy with the monotony of it.

And so Clarke couldn’t be blamed for the grumbling of her stomach as the fish swam even closer still.

“Me too,” Jessa whispered and Clarke knew the girl’s own mind had turned to the fish soon to be had.

“Don’t miss,” Clarke whispered, and she found her eyes glued to the shape that rippled just barely closer.

Clarke sensed Jessa tense for just one more second, she felt the girl’s breath still, she even sensed the girl’s body already anticipate the recoil of the bow for she leant just a little forward, her feet just barely shifting in the water.

But the fish seemed to sense the static in the air, in the water, even the tension that ebbs off both of them, and Clarke saw it slip, she saw it dart, begin to move away.

Jessa saw it too, though, and Clarke grimaced for just a second as the fish began to flee. But Jessa’s body shifted ever so slightly, it moved and leant with the motions of the fish. And then she fired. The large bow twang in her hand, the arrow snapped forward, and its tip shot into the water with a thunk that sent ripples cascading over the water’s surface.

Jessa lunged forward then, and Clarke found herself jumping forward, too, her eyes peering into the water in search of the fish, but Jessa made it to where the arrow stuck out from the surface, her eyebrows furrowed and she chewed on her lip as she leant down and reached for the arrow.

But what greeted Clarke was a triumphant smile, a look of happiness and satisfaction, of eagerness and hopeful pride. Jessa reach down and pulled the arrow from the water, and Clarke found the fish impaled through its side, its body still twitching in death, its scales shining and glimmering in the setting sun. Clarke knew her lips broke into her own wide smile as Jessa lifted the fish over her head and let out a happy scream as she began to move back to the water’s edge.And through it all, Clarke couldn’t even try to hide the pride she felt beginning to well up within her chest.

 

* * *

 

The fire crackled and burned with each gust of wind that broke through the lands. Clarke and Jessa had made camp by a rock outcrop just an arrows throw from the river’s edge, the small plot of land shielded from the elements by large rocks and a fallen tree that had long since bleached to the sun. Clarke continued to watch as Jessa turned the skewered fish over above the flame, its flesh beginning the cook and sizzle to the spices poured atop it.

The sight before her brought forth memories though, and Clarke thought it just a ironic that she retraced her steps, albeit more sure, more known and confident. But perhaps she didn’t so much mind.

And she didn’t because she didn’t find herself lingering upon her choices as much as she once did, she didn’t find herself second guessing, questioning, blaming herself for the things she had done.

But for why she wasn’t sure.

But for now, she was happy to share in Jessa’s company, she was happy to watch as the girl took the lead in preparing their food, and she was happy.

She was happy to spend as much time as it took to cross the plains, to enter Trikru lands, she was happy to let herself live in the moment, for however long she could. But above all?

Clarke was happy tha—

A branch snapping echoed out through the air, Clarke’s head shot up and her hand fell to the knife by her hip as she looked out into the dark around them. Jessa’s own hand fell to the knife strapped to her belt, her eyes peered out into the dark and her body began to shift closer and closer to Clarke’s. Clarke sensed the presence of others though, she sensed the approach of feet, of bodies that had been drawn to the fire, to the scents of a cooking meal. Clarke stood, her hand picked up her bow and she found herself knocking arrow without much thought as she peered out in the direction of the sound.

“Who’s there?” Clarke said aloud, her voice carrying over the wind as her gaze snapped to the shadowy silhouettes that began to bleed out from the dark.

And as her words left her lips she found herself drawing the arrow back ever so slightly as she took a step forward and placed herself between Jessa and whoever the newcomers were.

The steps continued until it brought the silhouetted figures to the edge of the campfire’s light, and a man’s face came to meets Clarke’s question.

His eyes were guarded as he took in the bow in her hands, his clothes were dark, blackened and weathered by travel, a hand lay atop a knife tucked into his belt and his spindly hair remained pulled back in a tight bun.

“I won’t ask again,” Clarke said as she widened her step ever so slightly, bow held readied but aimed at her feet for now.

“We are travellers,” the man said, his voice wispy as a tongue came out to wet his lips. “Just like you,” he finished with a shrug as three other men came to stand beside him, each one as equally travel weary.

“Are you fools to try sneaking up on us?” Clarke said, her voice just a little harder as she took in the way each man looked to their belongings, to the horses tied close by.

“We did not sneak,” the leader said, his hands gesturing out around them, “that is why we broke the stick to let you know we approached.”

“What do you want?” Clarke’s gaze moved to one of the other men whose narrowed gaze fell to Jessa for a too long moment.

“We saw your fire,” the man shrugged, “we were cold,” he continued. “We thought you would share.”

And perhaps Clarke would have done things differently once upon a time, perhaps she would have been less guarded, less cautious had she never come to the ground.

But she had.

And so, “we don’t have anything to share,” Clarke continued as she continued to take in the way another man eyed the fish that still cooked over the flame.

“It looks as though you do,” the leader said once more, his own gaze moving to the fire and to the cooking fish. “Your packs seem full of supplies,” and he shrugged as he took a step forward.

“We need them for our travels,” and Clarke found herself pushing just a little against Jessa with her hip as she directed the girl back.

“And where do you travel?” the man questioned.

“None of your concern,” Clarke said, and she couldn’t quite shake the sense of dread that began to pool in the pit of her stomach as another of the men looked to the fish that cooked, this one’s fish holding a scar that slashed from temple and down to his jaw.

The leader smirked though, his eyes seemed to shift from Clarke and then to jessa and to the fish before back to Clarke.

“You are Plains Riders,” he shrugged. “Your people often help others in need,” and Clarke saw his gaze harden just a bit.

“There’s a river that way,” and Clarke gestured with her chin. “There’s a small outcrop of trees in that direction,” and she lifted her elbow in another direction. “You’ll find roots and fish and water there,” and she turned her gaze back to the man with the scar across his face to find his hungry gaze move from the fish and then to Jessa.

“You should share what you already have,” the leader said. “We are hungry,” and one of the men took a step forward towards the fire as another took a step forward towards Clarke and Jessa.

“Don’t,” and Clarke drew her bow back, she let her voice iron and she let her eyes snap to every single motion each of the four men took. “Move.”

The leader stilled his motions, his own gaze hardening in the light of the fire, Clarke even felt Jessa still beside her, the girl’s breath only just barely breaking through the air.

“We,” and the leader gestured to the other three men, “think you should share everything you have,” and he gestured from the fish to their packs and horses and then to woman and girl.

“No,” and Clarke drew the arrow back even further, she let the creak in the bowstring echo out around them, and she let her knees bend ever so slightly as she began thinking ahead. “I think you should leave.”

“No one needs to get hurt,” the man laughed quietly, his body turning just a little from her as his hands came up to placate her.

“No one does,” Clarke said, and she watched as one of the men leant against a rock, his hand falling to his hip as he watched her intently.

“How about this?” and the leader clapped his hands together and took another careful step towards the flame. “We eat together, we sleep by this fire for the night, then in the morning you show us to where to find more supplies, and thenafter you have helped us, we leave,” and he gestured to the other three men. “We are all tired, we could use rest, relaxation, comfort from the cold nights.”

“How about you take one of those burning sticks,” Clarke countered, her pulse now strumming in her ears as she held the arrow pointed squarely at the leader. “Use it to light your way,” and she paused as she saw the man with the scar kick at one of their packs carefully. “And find supplies with that,” but she knew her words to be ignored from the way one man looked at his nails, from the way one’s eyes moved from the fish and to her and Jessa with the same hunger, and from the way the leader’s smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How about,” and the leader’s eyes ironed, the other men shifted and Clarke knew what would come next. “No.”

Things happened faster than she could have expected.

The leader kicked at the fire and sent embers flying in every direction. One of the men lunged forward, his eyes moving from Clarke and to Jessa, the third man leaning against the rock drew a wicked blade that shone red in the firelight.

Jessa yelled out a warning as the scar faced man stooped and took a hold of one of their packs, but Clarke ignored that man as her gaze snapped to the leader and to the one who lunged forward.

Clarke fired, her arrow snapped forward and she barely took the time to register that the arrow embedded itself into the lunging man’s chest before she began moving, one hand pushing Jessa back as her other pushed the man’s body to the ground.

But the leader reacted as quickly as Clarke had fired her arrow.

He lunged, too. His hand drew a knife and she leapt over the dying man before coming to crash against Clarke’s elbow with a groan.

And Clarke snapped out her elbow, she let it drive into his chest and she let his momentum take him over her shoulder only to crash into the ground behind her.

Jessa yelled out once more, and Clarke’s gaze snapped back to the girl who scrambled onto her feet, her own knife held in her hands as her eyes roared out a fury at the scar faced man who had begun dragging their packs away.

And Clarke had little more time to yell out Jessa’s name before she saw the fourth man jumping forwards, his knife snaking out for her as his hand reached for purchase in her clothes.

But Clarke shifted, she dropped to her back and she kicked up with her legs and drove her feet into his stomach as she put space between them both.

And that was all the time she needed.

And she drew a second arrow form her quiver that lay by her side, she knocked it to her bow and she fired up between her legs at the man who scrambled to his feet.

Blood sprayed out from the wound punched into his throat, his blood gurgled passed his lips and fingers clawed at the arrow still quivering where it remained embedded.

Clarke rolled. She rolled over her shoulder, she found her feet and she cursed out in anger as she tried to find where the leader had fallen.

But she saw Jessa, too. She saw the girl’s body leaping through the air, she saw the girl’s knife slashing out, and she saw the scar faced man throw one of the packs towards her.

Clarke swore, she cursed and she spat out a mouthful of blood as she drew yet another arrow from the bundle that lay at her feet.

And she moved fast, she moved surely and with a determination she hadn’t felt in years. She rose in one motion, she knocked arrow to bow and she drew back on the bowstring until fletching brushed against her lips.She took barely a moment to sight her target, to put the arrow tip squarely between the scar faced man’s eyes. And then she fired. She fired and she watched with satisfaction as the arrow screamed forward, as it moved closer and closer. But she didn’t. She didn’t because she felt herself slammed to the ground at the very same moment as she fired.

Clarke heard Jessa’s voice raging over the blood roaring through her own ears, but what stole her attention the most was the fist that slammed into her stomach and the weight that settled over her body.

The leader’s face loomed over her, his eyes sneering down as sweat and blood dropped down a narrow nose.

But Clarke reacted as violently as she could. She drove her head up and slammed it into his mouth. And she saw stars, she saw white and black and a blinding anger as she slammed her head forward again, and this time she felt his nose give way, she heard the sickening crunch and she felt bone soften more than it should.

The leader roared out in pain, Clarke scrambled away as much as she could and she tried to turn, tried to find her feet, to put her hands onto her bow, onto her knife, she tried looking for Jessa, she tried finding the fiery red of her hair and the messiness of her braid.

But she didn’t.

Clarke felt a boot slam into her from behind, she felt her legs be kicked out from under her, and she felt herself slammed face first into the ground.

She cried out in shock and pain, and she grimaced past the dirt smeared into her face as she felt a body settle over her back, over her spine, that immobilised her.

“This could have been easy and simple,” the leader snarled into her ear as a hand fist her hair and pushed her face harder into the dirt. “But you had to make it hard.”

Clarke gasped out as the man pulled her hair, she grimaced as she felt the stretch across her scalp, and she felt her shoulder protest as the man turned her around, as he forced her onto her back under him.

“Fuck you,” and Clarke didn’t know where Jessa was, she didn’t know where her bow was, where her knife had been thrown.

But all she knew was a burning rage, was a fury and an anger and a turmoil that made her see blood.

And Clarke’s hand snaked out as fast as it could, and she slammed her palm into the man’s nose yet again. And he screamed, he shouted out in pain and she dug her nails as deeply into his cheeks as she could as she kicked out under him, as her feet tried to find purchase, her other hand tried to find rock or dirt or stick to use as weapon or distraction.

But the man pinned her arm to the ground, he pulled her wrist and he twisted as forcefully as he could.

“My turn,” he snarled, and Clarke felt his hand settle over her, she felt the thumping of her heart as it beat furiously in her chest, and she felt the fear that began to sett—

A blur of anger smashed into the man from behind, and Clarke’s eyes widened as she saw Jessa’s blood stained face appear from the dark.

Jessa drove her knife into the man’s back as fiercely as she could, and Clarke saw the tip explode out from his shoulder, and she saw the man’s eyes widen in shock. But he roared, he reacted, he spun from on top of Clarke and turned to face Jessa.

Jessa drew her knife back, her eyes fire in the night as she lunged forward with another scream, her hand slammed down onto him, her knife’s point aimed for his heart. But the leader lunged forward, his hand punched out and caught Jessa’s wrist.

And then he twisted it just as he had done Clarke’s wrist. 

Jessa cried out in pain, her other hand reached up and tried to strike him in the face, even her legs kicked out as she tried to fight, to attack, to wound and to bloody.

But the man merely snarled passed his pain as he threw her to the ground with a savageness that made Clarke’s blood boil.

“Do not even think of rising,” he snarled, and Clarke stilled in her motions as the man held a knife to Jessa’s throat. “Everything that happens now,” and he took a moment to pause, to catch his breath and to spit out a mouthful of blood that landed across Clarke’s leg. “It is all your fau—”

The man paused mid sentence, his eyes widened, and his words choked in his throat.

He swayed where he stood for only a moment as his gaze peered down and to the arrow that protruded from his heart, whose metal tip glinted in the firelight.

And it lasted only another second before the man stumbled forward, before he fell to his knees and then fell face first into the dirt where he lay twitching and dying amongst the blood of the others.

Clarke blinked back the shock, she blinked back the pain, the throbbing of her shoulder and wrist, and she couldn’t take her eyes from the fletching that protruded from the man’s back.

She knew the colours to be familiar, she knew the tones to be recognised, the patterns across the feathers to be known. Even Jessa’s eyes were widened as she looked to the fletching.

And so Clarke turned her gaze to the shadow that began to move from the shadows, whose form was large, was hulking, was familiar.

A man stood before them, his face tattooed and scarred, his hair braided, and his beard mighty, and a familiar bow held in his large hands. The man cast his gaze out around them, and his eyes narrowed to the other dead, to the blood, to the disturbed belongings that now lay scattered across the small campsite.

And so he paused for just a moment before his gaze returned to Clarke and Jessa.

“Are you ok?” Ryder asked.


	20. Chapter 20

Clarke’s chest rose with each stabbing breath she took. Her ears continued to thump with the beat of her heart and her fingers shook just a little as she held bow in one hand, arrow in the other.

Jessa rose to her feet as Clarke did the same. Thoughts began to strum through Clarke’s mind as she took a moment to settle her breathing, to try to wrestle her emotions, her anger, and the beating of her heart into something more stable.

“Are you ok?” Ryder asked once more, and Clarke watched as he lowered his bow and seemed to relax a little in the dark of the night.

And perhaps Clarke should have known she would find no peace, perhaps she should have expected something to go wrong, for something to sour whatever progresses she had thought she had begun to make. Perhaps she should have realised she would never be allowed to wander the lands alone now that she had been discovered. Perhaps she shou—

“Take me to her,” Clarke found her words coming from somewhere distant, she found her voice to be just a little hoarse, and she thought she tasted blood upon her lip as she let her eyes close and took in another steadying breath. “Take me to her.”

 

* * *

 

They must have been riding for hours and it seemed to Clarke as though her heart had only just truly settled by the time the sun began to rise in the sky, where its light only just began to bleed into the darkness of the night. Jessa remained quiet as she rode beside her, the girl’s thoughts guarded, her hands gripping around the reins of her horse tightly and her mind elsewhere. Clarke worried, too, she worried for Jessa, if only because the girl had hardly said word, had hardly voiced concern since Ryder had intervened. But for now, Clarke would let the girl have her quiet, at least until they found somewhere more secure and less open to the world that seemed to stretch out around them.

Clarke brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as the wind picked up, and she couldn’t help but to shiver just a little to the elements as they took purchase within the flowing creases of her clothes.

“How long have you been following us?” Clarke asked Ryder from where she rode behind him.

“Since you left Raska,” he replied quietly, and Clarke had thought as much, but still, she found herself feeling just a little angry at the fact that she hadn’t quite found the peace and quiet of the plains that she had longed for.

But yet, she was not so foolish as to ignore the help Ryder had been and so Clarke merely grit her teeth and tried to think of just what she could say, or what she would do when they met yet again.

The wind seemed to pick up again, and Clarke sensed Jessa shiver slightly atop her horse, and so Clarke moved closer, she let her gaze fall to the girl who remained quiet in her saddle, and she made sure the weight of her gaze broke through Jessa’s silence.

Jessa looked up, and Clarke’s gaze moved across her face and took in the shadow of a bruise on Jessa’s jaw, the slight cut that had found a place on her chin, and the way red streaks seemed to still cling to the contours of the girl’s cheeks in the rising light.

“I’m ok,” Jessa said, her voice a little quiet as it broke the silence around them.

“Are you?” Clarke asked, and she knew not to push, nor did she wish to intrude more than that. At least for now.

“Yes,” and Jessa shrugged as she turned her gaze to the barely there trees and rocks that seemed to break the crispness of the horizon.

Another gust of wind seemed to engulf them then, and Clarke was sure she could smell the subtle change in the air, she was sure she could even sense the lingering presence that sat somewhere hidden and out of the way.

Ryder must have sensed her unease though because he looked over his shoulder, eyes a little softer as he took in both of them riding close together.

“We arrive at Heda’s camp very soon.”

 

* * *

 

They continued riding for a short time longer, but true to his word, Clarke began to hear the sounds of a camp, she could hear the horses neighing, she could hear the sounds of hushed voices carrying over the wind, she could even hear the sounds of quiet laughter that would peel off into the night.

They came to a small ridgeline then, and as they crested it Clarke found herself looking down onto a large camp of warriors and burning fires and tents. Warriors milled about fires, some continued to sleep through what little of their rest they had, and some still trained in a small space cleared away from the tents.

A low whistle echoed out around them and Clarke’s head snapped to the side to see a warrior, drawn bow in hand, fading into view from where they had remained hidden in the dark of the night.

Ryder answered the whistle with his own before nudging his horse forward carefully.

“Come,” Ryder said as he began to guide his horse down the ridgeline and towards the camp.

And so Clarke found herself following the man once more, Jessa close by her side, but through it all Clarke couldn’t help but to find her gaze drawn to one of the largest war tents in the distance, to the torches that burned a perimeter, and to the guards that stood outside. And perhaps Clarke could be forgiven for not quite understanding the emotions that seemed to be filling her mind, that seemed to be taking hold of every little morsel of muscle and bone, flesh and blood. But if she was truthful with herself, she understood just what she felt.

More warriors seemed to spring out from the dark, each one eyeing the newcomers with a guarded quiet that made Clarke’s skin prickle, that made her mind conjure images of prey watched by quiet predator.

But Clarke knew each one to simply be a guard, a sentry, a lone warrior whose task it was to guard against attack and surprise, and so Clarke didn’t hold it against each warrior who stepped forward, weapon drawn or bow readied only to wave them by as they dipped back into the shadows.

Clarke found that they came to the edge of the camp in just a few short moments. Warriors who sat around fires turned to them, she saw some nod their heads to Ryder in greeting while others eyed her with a cautious curiosity she hadn’t felt in years.

Her horse neighed softly then, its own mind just a little cautious to the foreignness of those around it, but Clarke’s hand reached out and smoothed down a muscled neck as she whispered out into the dark. But perhaps she couldn’t blame her horse for feeling unease at the situation, if only because she felt it herself. She felt a tension building in her shoulders, she felt an ache building in the pit of her stomach, and she felt an apprehension taking hold within her mind.

But they came to a stop.

They came to a stop outside a tent Clarke had once known, whose walls were fur, cloth and leathers, heavy and thick, stitched together and layered to shelter the quiet of a warmth from the outside chill.

Ryder dismounted his horse then, his feet thudding against the ground as he turned to face Clarke and Jessa who followed his actions themselves. As Clarke’s feet hit the ground she couldn’t help but to wince just a little at a pain that seemed to jar her knee, but she discarded the worry as she turned to Jessa whose eyes were still guarded as she took in the warriors around them who watched, who seemed content to stare with open curiosity and intrigue.

“Wait here,” Ryder said quietly as he turned to the tent’s entrance and began moving towards it.

And so Clarke found herself trying to think of what to say, of how to explain whatever she thought she should explain to Jessa. For she was sure Jessa knew not why Clarke seemed to want to confront and face whatever she did.

“Hey,” and Clarke crouched down before Jessa, her hand reached out and squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “I—”

But Clarke didn’t quite know what to say.

And perhaps she didn’t quite know what to say because she couldn’t quite let herself believe that she now stood outside the Commander’s tent, that after years she seemed to be incapable of escaping a presence she had wished would leave her be forever.

And maybe it was a twisted sense of fate, a predetermined joke whose humour was lost to her. And maybe it was simply happenstance, a coincidence, a merging of journeys that would pull and twist and exist as separately as the roots of a tree did.

Or maybe not.

“I won’t be long,” Clarke said instead of whatever she had thought she would have said. “I just need—” but she didn’t quite know what she needed.

“It’s ok,” Jessa shrugged. “I understand.”

Ryder stepped back out of the tent then, his eyes squinting just a little in the dark of the early morning.

“Heda will see you,” he said, and Clarke found herself standing, she found herself nodding to no one in particular and she found herself stepping forward, one hand’s fingers shaking just a little, the other clenched tightly as she tried not to let her emotions bleed out too openly.

And so she stepped forward, she took a moment to move passed Ryder, and she took another long second to take in the tent’s entrance before she entered.

And the tent seemed just like it had once been, it seemed just as similar, just as constant as it would always be and had always been.

The large war table still dominated the centre of the room, a large map was laid out atop it with models small and large quietly sitting where they should. Even the candles and torches that had once flickered their firelight still did so now, even the hanging fabric in the corner of the tent that shielded away more private spaces still flickered just a bit to what little wind fought its way into the tent’s interior.

But things had changed, too. Things were different, were aged, were worn to the world and the years and seasons that had come and gone. The throne still sat where it had once been, but yet, Clarke thought it different, she thought it just different enough that she noticed, that she accepted, but perhaps not to different that she could understand. But perhaps what seemed to be the most different was the silence she found herself invading. And it was a silence that didn’t seem fitting, that didn’t seem kind, welcomed or cherished.

Clarke looked around, and she found herself taking in the emptiness of the tent, her gaze fell to the side of the throne where warrior had once stood, where chief, captain, guard had one resided. And she found herself taking in the warmth of furs, once soft and lush but now beaten to the years, to the days and nights, to a lack of thought or care. Even the flames that flickered and danced their shadows seemed to do so without liveliness, without humour and without the intensity they had once lived.

“You wished to see me,” and the words cut through Clarke’s quiet, they cut through her thoughts, they cut to the very core of her being.

And so her gaze snapped to the woman who stood by the war table, whose red sash lay discarded and draped over the table’s edge, whose pauldron sat by her throne, and whose sword rested against the table’s leg.

Clarke took a moment to really take in the woman who stood before her, she took a moment to truly see what she saw.

And Lexa seemed just as she had seemed almost weeks earlier, but yet, Clarke thought something seemed different, something seemed unkind, uncaring, too guarded.

Clarke’s lips parted as she made way for word, for her voice to speak out into the silence, but she found no word to be found. Not the first time, not the second time, not even the third.

But through it all, Lexa seemed willing to wait, to listen to unvoiced pains and uncertainties.

Clarke looked away just once, and she found her gaze drawn to one candle that seemed to flicker and burn and drip wax to the tent’s floor with little care for anything more than the heat it let free.

And perhaps that was what Clarke needed. Perhaps not caring, perhaps not thinking too far ahead was what she needed. At least in the moment.

And so she didn’t quite mean to say the words she let slip past her lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Lexa’s eyes widened just a fraction at the outburst, her lips pursed and her shoulders squared as her face hardened and settled into something Clarke had once been too familiar with.

“Excuse me?” and Lexa’s eyes seemed to flash in the dark, they seemed to border on reproach, on anger, annoyance, grievance and anguish.

And perhaps Clarke’s stubbornness had found purchase within her being because she knew she couldn’t back down now, she knew she couldn’t turn tail and run from whatever confrontation she had avoided in Raska.

And so, “you heard me,” and she found her hands on her hips as she took a measured step forward, her gaze hardening as she met Lexa’s stare with her own. “You think you own me? You think you can send someone to follow me? That I’m one of your subjects you can keep tabs on? To make sure I’m behaving?” and she came to a pause just a pace from Lexa.

But Lexa moved forward, too, the woman seemed to swell in size, she seemed to burn with an intensity Clarke had missed, and she seemed to fill the interior of the tent with a silence that made the hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck recoil.

And not for the first time Clarke found herself resenting the fact that Lexa stood just barely taller than her.

“I sent Ryder to protect you in your travels,” Lexa said, her voice cold, iron and ice, the tone quiet now that both women seemed to share the same air they breathed.

“So you think I need protecting? You think I’m weak? After everything I’ve done you think I need someone treating me like a child?” Clarke snapped, and she felt the beat of her heart as it strummed in her chest. “You think I need someone fighting for me?”

“You did,” Lexa said, and Clarke blinked back at the abruptness of the reply. “You would not be here if Ryder was not present,” Lexa continued. “The blood on your clothes proves that.”

“That’s—” but Clarke didn’t quite know how to respond. “That’s not the point.”

Lexa’s eyebrow raised just slightly at that, and Clarke was sure she even sensed the barest flickering of mirth before it faded and was replaced by something Clarke thought bordered on care, on worry and perhaps even want.

“How is Jessa?” Lexa said after a moment, and the change in tone took Clarke by surprise.

“She’s—” but Clarke paused as she tried to find the words. “She’ll be ok,” and Clarke believed that.

“That is good to hear,” Lexa said, and for some reason Clarke thought Lexa’s words truthful.

But the quiet seemed to stretch out then, and Clarke found herself unsure of where to go now that her anger had dissipated as quickly as it had flared. And so she took a step back from the other woman, she turned her shoulder and she tried to shield herself from the way Lexa’s gaze never seemed to waver from her face.

“Sorry,” Clarke said then, and she tried not to let the tired in her voice break her resolve.

“You do not need to apologise to me, Clarke,” Lexa answered from somewhere over Clarke’s shoulder. “You are tired, the bandits are to blame for any grievances you feel in the moment.”

Clarke took a deep breath then, and she tried to settle her thoughts and she tried to think of the words she wished to say without causing insult.

“You should have just said you were sending someone to watch over us,” Clarke said, and she turned back to Lexa to see that the woman had taken a step back and now leant just a little against the edge of her war table.

“You would not have approved,” Lexa countered.

“You wouldn’t have listened to me,” Clarke said and she tried not to think back to times they had once shared.

And yet again they both fell silent as an unease seemed to grow between them, and not for the first time Clarke found herself resenting the fact that she seemed unable to face what existed between them now, and what had once existed between them in the past.

“I should go,” Clarke said after too long, and she looked back to Lexa to see the woman’s gaze turning steady once more, and she watched as Lexa simply nodded once and let her shoulders square and her hands clasp behind her back. “Ryder’s going to follow us again, isn’t he?” Clarke said.

“Until you cross the border into Trikru lands,” Lexa answered, and Clarke was sure she saw something just barely there in Lexa’s gaze.

“And then he’ll leave us?”

“Yes,” Lexa answered. “Trikru warriors patrol the forests. It is harder for bandits to roam our lands than it is for them to roam the plains,” and Clarke was sure she sensed just a little hint of pride in the woman’s words.

“You’re prideful, you know that?” and Clarke couldn’t quite understand where her want for conversation seemed to be coming from.

“I do not mean to cause offence,” Lexa shrugged in answer.

And if Lexa had been someone else, if she had been anyone else, Clarke would have been sure the woman said so to impress, to boast. But Lexa _was_ Lexa. And so Clarke knew the woman to be simply stating a truth that she believed.

And perhaps it was that realisation that made Clarke remember the anger she had once felt, perhaps it was the quiet of the conversation that made Clarke realise the shock she had felt, that made her remember the softness, the pressure, the tremble, the anxious and the eagerness of a shared moment.

And perhaps it was any number of things that they had both lived.

And so Clarke sighed, she looked Lexa in the eye and she let her voice steady.

“Thank you, for the help,” and Clarke nodded as she began to turn for the exit.

“Wait,” and Lexa’s voice broke through her mind just as she reached the tent’s exit. “Clarke,” and Clarke turned back cautiously as she saw Lexa take a step around the table to put it between them both, one hand happy to trail along its edge. “We travel to Trikru lands,” Lexa began as her gaze seemed to drift in the candle light. “It is no burden to feed two more mouths for the journey,” and Lexa paused.

“I—” but Clarke didn’t quite know what to say yet again. But from the way Lexa’s gaze moved to the dried blood on her clothes, to the way Lexa’s hand seemed to shift just ever so subtly to her sword’s handle, Clarke knew the woman thought of other bandits, she knew the woman meant for Clarke to think of whatever dangers may still linger over the horizon. And perhaps Clarke was thankful that Lexa kept all those words quiet, kept them behind closed lips lest they insult, lest they make a choice for her.

But most of all?

Clarke was sure Lexa thought of Jessa, she was sure Lexa tried however subconsciously to remind her of the safety of others.

And perhaps Clarke didn’t quite know what to do with that thought, that realisation.

“Ok,” Clarke said, and her voice came out weary and tired, the aches and pains of her fight with the bandits seemingly making themselves truly known now. “At least until Trikru lands,” and Clarke turned back to the tent’s exit. “Then we’ll go our separate ways.”


	21. Chapter 21

Lexa wasn’t so sure what woke her. She didn’t know whether it was the harsh bite of the throne, or whether it was the cold that permeated through her body. But she woke to a chill that seemed to embrace her, and she woke to an ache that seemed to splinter through her hip, that seemed to make her joints ache to any slight movement. Her eyes blinked open after a moment, and it took her just a second longer to grasp where she was, where she had found herself.

Lexa found herself leaning back in her throne, a hand on each armrest where she had fallen asleep. She couldn’t even quite remember when she had decided to remain in her throne, she couldn’t remember the moment she had given in to simply resting where she had been seated.

And perhaps she found it just a little sad, perhaps she found it just a little detached, pathetic even, that she seemed to embrace the solitude of her tent in such moments.

Lexa sat up then, she winced just slightly to the cold and she cast her gaze to the war table that remained in the centre of her tent, to the map and the models that lay atop the hard surface.

And she wasn’t quite sure what triggered her memories, she wasn’t sure what made them seem to flow to the forefront of her mind, but she found herself remembering times she had shared with Clarke, she found herself remembering the nights of quiet conversation, of war meetings, of stress and annoyances, of waiting and anticipating.

And perhaps what made her think of such things was simply the fact that her mind seemed to not know what to do now that Clarke had been found, that Clarke had seemed to spring to life before her very eyes, who had seemed to have lived a life full of love, of cherished moments. Of times not for her to know.

And so Lexa looked away from the war table, she looked away from the memories, and she found herself trying to cling to whatever presence seemed to stand just past her gaze, that seemed to drift in and out of her consciousness, that seemed to exist beyond conscious thought, beyond waking recognition.

And she felt the pressure and the tingle at the base of her neck, she felt the murmurings and the faintest of dronings that seemed to fill every little quiet moment her mind let her have.

But not for the first time she tried embracing the presence, she tried letting in whatever seemed to exist, whatever seemed to shadow her. If only so that she would have another that would understand and share in the solitude and the cold that seemed to have become her life.

And so the presence seemed to shift, it seemed to fade out from the shadows, it seemed to morph and bleed and take form in the very corner of her eye, it seemed to take residence where he once had stood, where he had once watched and guarded, cautioned and breathed.

“I have missed you,” Lexa breathed quietly lest her voice carry further than it should, lest her voice give way to weakness, lest it break whatever resolve she told herself she still had.

“Titus would not approve of such sentiment,” he said softly, and Lexa found herself looking for his presence, she found herself searching for the warmth he had once brought her.

“Titus would not approve of many things I have done,” Lexa countered, and she blinked back whatever hurt seemed to exist within her thoughts.

And so Gustus stepped out from the corners of her mind, he let his steps take him into the centre of the tent, and he turned to face her with the usual keen glint that had always shone in his gaze.

“You do not know what to do,” he said, and Lexa found herself smiling just barely at the way his voice seemed so real, seemed so full of whatever warmth it had once held.

But, she also found herself frowning just a little at the way his words took hold within her mind, she found herself grimacing to the realisations, to the truths of his words.

“I do not,” and Lexa didn’t quite know how to say what she felt beating within her heart with each passing day.

“You care for her,” he said.

And she knew she did. She knew she cared for Clarke more than she would ever voice to the world, more than she should, more than she could.

“I—” but perhaps she couldn’t let herself truly speak her mind. And perhaps it was because she thought to do so would be to admit weakness, would be to admit that she had lost whatever game it was that her life had begun to play. But most of all? Perhaps it was because she could never admit the truth for she felt a fear at the very thought. “What am I to do, Gustus?” and perhaps Lexa couldn’t remember the last time her voice had seemed so pathetic, had seemed so weak.

“I do not know,” Gustus replied, and Lexa looked him in the eyes as he simply shrugged just once.

Lexa thought that answer not so helpful, she thought that answer not too useful. If only because she truly knew not what to do.

Her gaze turned back to her war table then, and she found that her gaze landed upon the space where the Mountain was marked, where battles had been fought, lives had been lost and taken, and where promises and trusts had been shattered.

And for perhaps the first time in a long time, Lexa let herself truly remember the hurt in Clarke’s eyes, she let herself remember the confusion, the anger, and the realisation.

She even found herself remembering the offer for Clarke to see Polis, to see how it thrived, how it was home to thousands, how it fed and sheltered and cared for all those within its walls.

But Lexa was not so foolish as to hope for a future where Clarke would ever let anything exist that had once been a possibility.

And so she discarded whatever thoughts had taken place in her mind, she discarded whatever longings she had been entertaining, and she discarded weakness.

If only because she thought she would drown.

Lexa stood, she ignored whatever pained her and she let her hands run over the creases in her clothes as she began moving to her tent’s exit without worry for the presence that seemed to fade back into her mind’s shadows.

And, with each step that took her closer and closer to her tent’s exit, Lexa told herself that she wasn’t running, that she wasn’t retreating from her truths. 

But, as Lexa’s feet reached the threshold of her tent she heard it ever so quietly, she heard it whispered somewhere in the back of her mind.

_Do what you think is right._

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to the quiet of a waking camp, of warriors preparing for another day of journey, to horses being fed, being readied. Jessa lay beside her in the small tent they shared, the girl’s face buried in warm furs as the cold seemed to brush the tips of her ears and whatever small part of her face remained exposed to the chill.

Clarke lay where she found herself for a moment longer, she let her mind wake fully and she let her breath ease into a rhythm that she found helped to settle her for the day to come.

She knew the camp would break soon, that the warriors would wish to begin their travels and not linger for longer than they needed. So, with just a little wince, Clarke pulled the furs from her body and she sat, she stretched and she groaned to the slightest of pops she felt in her back as she let the cold morning air prickle at her exposed body.

Clarke stood, she cast her gaze downwards and onto Jessa who grumbled in sleep as she rolled into the spot Clarke had left, and not for the first time Clarke found her lips pulling up at the corners as she knelt down and squeezed Jessa’s shoulder.

And so Clarke whispered out the girl’s name softly, she let the warmth of her touch bring the girl closer to consciousness and she let her eyes take in the mess of twisted and knotted fiery hair that adorned Jessa’s head. The girl’s eyes cracked open with a sleepy reluctance that made Clarke smile a little more widely.

But, as Jessa yawned, as she whimpered to the cold and as she whispered out her own quiet greeting, Clarke found a realisation beginning to take hold within her mind.

And it wasn’t something life altering, nor was it something drastic, something deathly important. But Clarke couldn’t help but to think that perhaps she would get Jessa her own tent soon, that the girl deserved some space, some privacy, some more responsibility. And hadn’t Jessa earned that? After all the years they had spent together?

And maybe it was simply Clarke’s realisation that now, as she made her way back to Camp Jaha, and as she prepared to face the last of what had been plaguing her mind, she had been relying on Jessa as much as the girl had relied on her.

And so Clarke apologised with a laugh as she pulled the furs from Jessa and pulled her from the bed lest the girl fall back to sleep before even fully waking.

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Jessa ducked out of their tent not soon after Clarke managed to tame Jessa’s wild hair into a somewhat presentable braid. The sun still hung low in the sky, and it shone its light upon the lands, but Clarke thought it seemed a little less like the light of the plains, a little less like the red and oranges, yellows and browns that would fill her vision.

Mist seemed to just barely cling to the lands, too, it seemed to weave between tent and person, burning flame and shivering horse. But as Clarke took a step further from the tent, as she let her lungs fill with the cool chill of the morning, she was certain she felt a prickle on the back of her neck, she was sure she sensed the eyes of someone who watched in the distance, who seemed to linger without worry and concern for being found.

She turned, and she searched face and body, it didn’t quite surprise her when her gaze settled upon the Commander’s tent that stood in the distance, whose size dwarfed those near it, and whose shadow seemed to cut a swatch of emptiness through the mist as it parted in its journeys across the land.

And so it didn’t surprise Clarke to find the person standing before the tent, gaze ever quiet, ever guarded in the morning mist.

 

* * *

 

The lands flashed past, they bled from the reds and oranges of the morning sun, from the yellows and browns of the fleeting lands, and to the blues of a cloudless sky. the sun shone down on the lands, its rays seemed to shine with an intensity and a want that seemed renewed, hopeful, eager for change and carefree.

Clarke rode atop her horse, Jessa on her own, both beasts galloping over the lands as easily as a bird soared through the open skies. Clarke and Jessa rode ahead of the Trikru warriors, and if Clarke was completely honest with herself she would admit that she felt just a little pride at the fact that their horses were stronger, larger, faster than those the Trikru rode.

And so Clarke found herself falling into a rhythm, into a pattern, where she would look over her shoulder once or twice just to check that they were still followed, that they kept pace just a little ahead of the galloping warriors to their back. And Clarke did so for she wished for some semblance of privacy from the eyes that seemed to watch every move she made, every step she took, and she did so because she still didn’t quite know just how to feel about the company she kept.

But most of all, Clarke used the time to think over her actions. And she found herself thinking of Ten and Jorda who must have begun to return to Raska by now, whose scouting of the borders must have come to an end. Clarke also found herself thinking of Jessa, of what the girl would do once they reached Trikru lands, and Clarke thought she would let Jessa bring up the topic of Ton DC if she wished, and Clarke thought that she wouldn’t quite push for Jessa to visit if she didn’t wish to.

Clarke also found herself thinking, contemplating, perhaps even worrying just a little of what she would do when she reached Camp Jaha. But as she thought of the future conversations and apologies she knew she would have to make, she didn’t quite think it felt real, she didn’t quite think it had truly settled within her for she found herself numbed to whatever pains had once lingered in her mind.

Or maybe the realisation that she no longer felt the pain so stingingly, so searingly, meant she had made progress in whatever journey she had taken, that she had used whatever time she had stolen to heal, that she had overcome whatever burdens, whatever demons had lingered upon her shoulders. Or perhaps that emptiness, that uncertainty was simply a reminder that her journey was unfinished, that she still needed to make amends, that she still needed to lay to rest the last of her actions. And perhaps Clarke wished things were simpler, were less confusing, less troublesome.

And so Clarke pushed those thoughts aside, she turned her gaze outwards, and she let the flashing of the lands pass her by. And as she turned her face to the sun, as she let the heat of the day’s light and as she let the wind take hold around her, she could be forgiven for wanting to ignore the shadows that seemed to appear at the edges of her vision, that seemed to want to take hold somewhere in the corners of her mind, and that seemed to want to bring forth memories she had let herself dwell upon for longer than a few short seconds.

 

* * *

 

Clarke knew the warriors, even the Commander, were eager to return home after such a long journey so the group of warriors began to slow their pace and search for a suitable place to make camp only when the sun began to touch the horizon. Clarke had begun to se the difference in the lands they had travelled, too, the grasses seemed less yellow and red, the gravel seemed more grey, less full of the richness of the plains, and even the few trees that had begun to appear more frequently seemed wider, broader, taller than those of the plains.

But perhaps what struck Clarke the most was the way the grasses seemed to shift into the greens of the forests she had once been familiar with, whose blades seemed to dance just a little differently in the wind.

She thought that Jessa had begun to recognise the difference and feel the familiarity, for the girl had begun to take in the lands around her, she had begun to eye each piece of bark, leaf and stone with a glint in her eye that told Clarke that the girl recalled memories from her past.

And it was with the those thoughts that Clarke found herself pulling her horse to a stop by the side of a flowing river, whose surface rippled to the barely there wind, and whose water seemed to trickle and ebb and flow over the lands with ease.

Warriors pulled their horses up behind her, they dismounted and they begun to make camp for the night with a speed born from years of repetition. Clarke and Jessa found themselves dismounting, too, they found themselves erecting their own small tent, and they found themselves falling into a rhythm as they prepared for the night.

And so Clarke turned her mind to the task at hand, to unravelling their tent and to sorting through their bedding, and though it all, she tried to discard the fact that she felt a familiar gaze upon her, that she felt a presence watch her and study every move she made from the distance that she found herself incapable of crossing.

 

* * *

 

Clarke wasn’t sure how long she lay awake in their tent, she wasn’t sure how long sleep seemed to elude her, and she wasn’t even so sure she knew how long it had been since Jessa’s breathing had evened out into sleep.

But Clarke knew she couldn’t find sleep for some reason, she knew she couldn’t even really let herself try to find it. Not when she felt the presence she hadn’t felt in years. Clarke turned her gaze to Jessa, she let her eyes take in the peaceful slumber that the girl embraced, and she let her mind try to make sense of whatever thoughts she seemed to be having in the moment.

And so Clarke rose, she sat and she let the furs fall from her body and pool around her waist. The night’s chill took hold of her skin and prickled her flesh and she found herself shivering as she stood and wrapped herself in loose clothing, red and eager to flow down her shoulders. Clarke spared just one last glance over her shoulder to check on Jessa’s sleeping form before she ducked out of their shared tent and into the open night.

And the night was calm, the moon sat high in the sky, and barely there clouds seemed to drift on whatever currents ebbed and flowed through the sky overhead. Clarke took a moment to look around herself at the tents that surrounded them, to the fires that glowed in the dark, to the few warriors who could either not sleep themselves, or who were on watch.

It didn’t surprise her to find Ryder sitting by the nearest fire, the man’s eyes closed, and his hand resting atop a knife tucked into his belt. And it didn’t surprise Clarke, that as soon as she took a step from her tent, Ryder’s eyes opened, they blinked and they focused on her from where he sat.

“Do you need to watch me, even here?” Clarke said quietly as she gestured around them and to the warriors and tents.

“Yes,” Ryder said, and Clarke watched for a moment as he stood and rolled his shoulders before coming to a stop not far from where she stood.

Clarke sighed as she turned and began to move towards the water’s edge, but as she passed Ryder, she found herself taking in the scar across his face, that sliced through his tattoo, and that seemed to have found a home amongst the many other scars that she was sure littered his body.

And she thought this moment familiar, she thought this moment funny even, for she found herself remembering the time she had held gun to Ryder in the dark, when she had marched him back to the Commander’s tent, had demanded he leave Octavia be.

But perhaps it wasn’t so similar. If only because she didn’t know if Octavia still lived, she didn’t know if any others had survived the years, she didn’t know how many of her people had found a place on the ground, had made a home to call their own. And so Clarke sighed as she continued to find her way between tents, Ryder’s presence steady and constant behind her as she continued to move.

As Clarke continued to make her way slowly to the water’s edge, she found that it didn’t surprise her that a shadow seemed to be drifting in the very corners of her mind, it didn’t even surprise her to find that she seemed to be chasing after it without conscious thought, without even really trying to close the distance between them both. And perhaps she was tired of running, perhaps she was tired of not facing whatever it was that she needed to face.

And so Clarke came to a pause by the water’s edge, she let herself still, she let her breathing even out and she let her mind clear as she tried to think of just what to say.

But she paused, too. She paused for she wished for this conversation to be private, for this conversation to be heard by none other than herself. And so Clarke looked over her shoulder, she let her gaze meet Ryder’s and she let her voice carry just far enough for him to hear.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ryder,” Clarke said to the man, and she saw him eye her for a long moment, and she was sure he took the time to consider, to contemplate whatever it was that drifted though his thoughts. “You can watch, you can guard me if you want,” and Clarke shrugged. “But I want privacy,” and she turned to face him fully. “I’m not saying don’t follow your orders. But for now, I want space,” and Clarke let her voice harden just enough that she knew Ryder recognised the fire in her words.

The man sighed for a moment, and Clarke watched as he looked around them, as he searched the dark.

“Do not move where I can not see you,” he said after a moment before turning and fading into the dark that surrounded them both.

And so Clarke turned back to the water’s edge, to the river that sparkled to the stars and the moon, to the rippled across its surface that undulated and ebbed, slithered and trickled through the lands. Clarke smiled as she looked up into the stars, she smiled as she found herself not so sad, she smiled as she thought over the things she had done, and she smiled for she thought she understood that this time was different, that this time wasn’t so full of guilt, so full of anger and pain and blame.

And perhaps she smiled for she knew she could face whatever demon stood beside her without breaking, without seeking forgiveness, without trying to make excuses for the things she had done.

And so Clarke let her eyes close for a long moment, she let her breaths even out and she let her mind settle into a peaceful quiet she had once thought never for her to have again.

“Hi,” and perhaps Clarke would never have said such a thing to the woman who stood beside her when she still lived, when she still glared and snarled, threatened and maimed.

“You are not dead,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile just a little to the surprise in the voice that came from somewhere beside her.

And so Clarke opened her eyes and turned to the woman who stood beside her, whose hair seemed just the same as when she had first seen her upon the bridge, whose eyes were smudged by the same black war paint, and whose curiosity and intrigue and wariness seemed ever constant behind an fearsome twitching of a lip.

“Hi, Anya.”


	22. Chapter 22

Anya’s lip twitched at the corners as their eyes met, and as Clarke took a moment to take in the woman, she took the time to remember the face, the dirtied tips of her hair, even the smudges of paint that had clung to her eyes.

Clarke even found herself wondering what life would have been like if they had never met, if they had met under different circumstances, if Anya had never been shot, if she had even been there when she had first met the Commander.

But so too did Clarke find herself remembering the pain that had seemed to stretch across Anya’s face after the bullet had ripped through her body, she remembered the mud, the blood, the acceptance and whatever other small thoughts had seemed to take hold within Anya’s eyes as life had left her body behind.

“Plains Riders,” Anya said after a moment, and Clarke saw the woman’s gaze move across her face, from the scar across her forehead, to the braids, and down to the reds and browns and yellows of the clothes she wore. “There are worse clans to call your own.”

And Clarke couldn’t help but to laugh just a little quietly at that.

“They’ve been good to me,” Clarke answered, and she turned her vision back to the river that trickled and flowed and ran lazily through the lands before her.

“They have,” Anya said, and Clarke felt the woman shift beside her, she felt her shiver to the slightest chill of the wind.

“Why are you here?” Clarke said, and she found that her voice came out a little more quiet then she had expected it.

“I do not know,” Anya shrugged, and she sighed, turned her own gaze towards the river, even hummed a little in the night as she let whatever thoughts roam through her mind.

They both fell silent, they both seemed not to wish to broach the distance between them, nor did they both seem to wish to break whatever quiet seemed to have settled around them both, but yet Clarke found that she looked back to Anya, she found that she tried to recognise the thoughts that must have been existing within her mind for days, perhaps even weeks.

Clarke thought she understood what Anya’s presence must have meant though, she was sure she could see the reason, the why for her appearance after so many years.

And so she found herself lowering herself to the ground, she found her legs crossed beneath her as she sat, as she took a moment for her body to settle into a more comfortable position.

“Stand if you want,” Clarke said up to Anya, the other woman’s gaze narrowed to her movements. “Or sit,” and Clarke shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Anya paused for just another moment before she sighed, before she came to sit beside Clarke in the dark, her legs stretched out before her as she let her foot bounce slightly.

And perhaps in that very moment Clarke realised that the life she found herself living, the vision she found herself having, even the company she found herself sharing was something that she had longed for, was something that had never settled for her, that was always held at bay by her past, by her actions, her regrets, her angers and frustrations.

“It took me a long time to be able to think about what I’d done without getting angry, without hating myself and others,” Clarke said, and she watched as a ripple travelled across the river’s surface.

“It did,” Anya agreed.

“I never thought I’d get over the guilt,” Clarke continued, and she wondered what her life would have become if she had never found companionship within Jessa, if she had never stayed with Ten in Raska, if Jorda had never been there to help with Jessa’s training.

“You still have not,” Anya countered, and Clarke thought the words a truth and an honesty that she had never quite let settle for herself.

“I haven’t,” Clarke agreed, and she blinked for a moment as her gaze seemed to shimmer and glisten too much for her liking. “But I’ve accepted that things happened the way they did,” and she paused, she took a deep breath and she looked up into the skies and imagined what it must be like in the cold embrace of space.

“They did,” Anya said, and Clarke felt Anya look up into the skies, too.

“You’re up there,” Clarke whispered, and she found her lips turning up at the corners, she found herself trying to smile, trying to think of times happier, of times less sombre. “Somewhere without worry, somewhere without pain and suffering,” and Clarke believed those words as much she knew how. “And I hope you’ve found peace, Anya,” and Clarke felt an ache in her heart at the memory of the woman who had fought against her, who had threatened, tried to maim and kill, who had roared in anger, had smirked in annoyance and satisfaction, and who had died trying to do what she thought was best for her people.

“I never thought you would have survived so long,” and Clarke was sure Anya would never have embraced such sentiment so openly, she was sure Anya would always have answered words of longing and comfort with a guarded curiosity that neither cold of warm.

“I didn’t either,” and Clarke was sure in some other world, in some other universe, in another life, that she would have died long ago, that she would have breathed her last breath face down in the dirt, her body broken and beaten, bloodied and full of pain.

“You were stupid,” but Clarke didn’t hear malice in Anya’s words. “You were foolish. You thought you could achieve peace when there was none to be had,” and Clarke didn’t quite know whether Anya spoke of their first meeting at the bridge, the Mountain, or even some other conflict long since passed.

“I only wanted to do the right thing,” Clarke said, and she found that her voice didn’t quite waver as much as it had once done.

“I know,” and Anya shrugged, she seemed to shift and shimmer beside her.

“I’m sorry you never got to see a world without the Mountain, Anya,” Clarke found herself whispering.

“As am I.”

And perhaps Clarke found herself realising that she found Anya’s presence comforting, she found her honesty, her bluntness refreshing.

“Will I ever see you again?” and Clarke found herself hoping so, if only selfishly.

“I hope not,” Anya snorted quietly. “But you are stubborn,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to think she heard compliment within Anya’s tone. “Stupid but stubborn,” and Clarke thought she could imagine the way Anya would have said such words. “So perhaps you will call me back in years to come, when you are lonely, when you are afraid, old and pathetic,” but Anya paused at that, and Clarke turned to her to see the woman turned thoughtful, contemplative and lost in thought. “And perhaps I will look forward to it,” she continued. “I did not die for you to waste what life you stole from me.”

And Clarke once more found a quiet laugh falling from her lips as she let Anya’s words sink in.

And perhaps she understood why Anya appeared to her, perhaps she understood that it was a reminder of the things she had done, a reminder that she should never become complacent, should never take for granted the air she breathed, the mornings she woke to, and the life she lived.

But perhaps Clarke found herself wondering just what such a conversation would have been like between her and Anya had she never died.

And so Clarke couldn’t help but to feel a little moment of sadness as she sighed, as she listened to the beat of her heart, and as she found sleep pulling at the corners of her eyes.

“I try living each day without forgetting her and everyone else that died,” and Clarke wasn’t surprised by the sound of her voice as it seemed to harden and turn to something more confident than it had once been.

“I will not say that she would be proud of you,” Anya said. “Because I am not Anya,” and she shrugged. “Only a figment of your imagination,” and Clarke smiled sadly at the words she found herself thinking. “But I do not think she would be disappointed in you,” and she paused, she let her words fill Clarke’s mind.

“I hope so,” Clarke said, and she found that she believed the words she found herself saying.

“Now go sleep,” Anya said. “People will think it strange that you talk to yourself so openly.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa wasn’t sure how long she spent sitting at the small table by her bed, she wasn’t sure how long she spent gazing into the reflection in the mirror, and she wasn’t sure how long the flames seemed to flicker and dance beside her as the candle continued to melt to the heat.

But Lexa thought she must have spent hours staring into her reflection for she felt the morning beginning to arrive, she felt the cold of the night slowly be replaced by the cool of the morning, and she felt the winds of the lands waking with the rising of the sun.

And Lexa wasn’t so sure why she looked herself in the mirror, she wasn’t so sure why she felt it necessary to trace the faintest wrinkles upon her face or the shadows that seemed to cling to her eyes, or even the barely there smudges of war paint that had seemed to stain her skin the subtlest of blacks.

But she thought she could guess, she thought she could take a stab in the dark as to why.

And perhaps it was because she didn’t quite recognise the woman she had become since laying eyes upon Clarke, perhaps it was because she didn’t recognise the woman whose actions she found herself living since leaving Raska, or perhaps she simply didn’t recognise the direction in which her life had gone.

And it was directionless, it was hollow, it was empty and cold, silent and too oppressive for her to really understand.

And Lexa found that the eyes that looked back at her lacked direction or determination, she thought they lacked substance and a fire that had once been present.

For as long as she could remember she had only known war, she had only know battles, had only known the cries of pain, of anger. Even the Commanders before her had only known war. Each one had left for war, had left to kill and to maim, had returned to Polis until one day they didn’t. And Lexa had long since embraced the knowledge that her fate would be the same, that one day she would leave for battle, would leave for she was called to do, and that she would one day never returned, would one day never lay eyes upon Polis, on her quarters in Polis tower, on the people who roamed the streets, who laughed and cried, who shouted and lived a life not for her to have.

But that had given her purpose, that had given her drive, had give her reason to wake each morning, to train with her warriors, to speak to, to teach, to impart knowledge upon the natblida who had been left under her care, just as she had experienced under the watchful gaze of Jaxton lifetimes ago.

And it hadn’t surprised Lexa when she had come to the conclusion that war with Azgeda was to come, it hadn’t surprised her when she had stood before her army, had fought and bled, had killed and silenced warrior after warrior.

But, as Lexa’s gaze narrowed to the one strand of greyed hair she saw, as her gaze narrowed to the faintest of scars on her jaw that had taken too long to heal, and as her gaze narrowed to the grey green of her eyes, she knew she had been surprised that she had still stood by that battles end. She had been surprised that she had walked the halls of Azgeda’s capital.

And she had been surprised that she had survived a battle when she had expected to die, when she had accepted that she would once more feel what it was like to feel the cold of metal sliding between her ribs, or that she would feel the warmth of her blood as it poured out from her opened throat, would fill her mouth and lungs and choke her on her own life’s blood.

But surviving had given her renewed determination to leave her people in safety, to ensure that each clan would be cared for, would know that life would continue. And she hadn’t thought too far ahead, she hadn’t considered what life would be like after the dust had settled.

And so that was where she now found herself. She now found herself amongst the settled dust, in her tent, built for war, for never staying still too long, but now seemingly on its last journey. Or at least its last journey with her.

Lexa sighed as she turned from her reflection, she sighed as she found herself standing from the chair, and she sighed at yet another slight ache in her hip as she began to move to the large table that dominated her tent.

And the realisation was sad, the realisation was hollow, was something she would never admit feared her, but the realisation was true.

And it was a realisation that she knew not what to do with her life now that things seemed to have beco—

“You are lost,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to gasp out in surprise, in shock, in reaction and violence.

She whipped around, her knife found purchase within her hand and she found herself crouched low, teeth barred, lips snarling.

“You are lost,” the woman said again, and Lexa couldn’t help but to blink back the shock, she couldn’t help but to feel the tingle in the back of her neck, and she couldn’t help but to now hear the droning of the voices as they filled her mind. “I did not spend years of my life training you only for you to become lost not that you have accomplished what you said you would,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to look away, she couldn’t help but to think her mind toying with her.

Anya sat on the edge of her table, the woman’s gaze keen in the candle light, her face paint-free, her hair braided just as it had always been.

“Anya,” and Lexa came to stand, her knife finding place back on her hip.

“Lexa,” Anya replied, and Lexa watched as the older woman looked around her tent.

“Why?” Lexa asked, and she watched as Anya’s eyebrow raised, as her lips twitched at the corners.

“Why?”

“Why are you here?” and Lexa moved to stand before Anya.

“You are lost,” Anya answered. Lexa looked away at that, and she didn’t quite know what to say. “You feel as though your life has no meaning,” Anya finished.

“That is not true,” and for some reason Lexa couldn’t help but to feel just like the girl she had once been, who had struggled through each lesson Anya deemed important for her to have.

“You lie to me?” Anya smirked, and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel an ache in her chest at the motion.

“I do not,” and she levelled her chin.

“You do,” and Anya slipped from the side of the table and came to stand toe to toe with her. “You are lost,” and Anya gestured around them. “You have made a better place for our people, and now with no enemy, with nothing to live for, you are lost.”

And perhaps Lexa was proud, perhaps she was foolish, too stubborn, or perhaps Anya’s words simply cut too close to home. But Lexa couldn’t admit whatever things Anya challenged, she couldn’t bring herself to accept.

“I—”

“Do not speak,” Anya said as she began to circle her, as she began tp pace around her in a slow circle. “I did not train you for years simply for you to lose purpose now,” Anya continued, her voice coming from somewhere behind Lexa.

“I have not lost purpose,” Lexa said, and she found an annoyance taking hold within her words.

“You have not?” Anya asked.

“No, I have not.”

“Then why am I here?” Anya said, and Lexa felt the woman push her in the back slightly. “Why am I here?”

“I do not know,” Lexa snapped, and she turned to face Anya.

“You do,” Anya said, and this time Lexa watched as the woman sighed and took a step back from her. “You do know why I am here.”

And Lexa thought the woman’s words came out just a little more gentle than she had ever heard, she thought she even sensed a warmth to them that seemed foreign, that seemed lost to her years ago.

And so, just as she had said to Gustus, she found herself voicing a truth she hadn’t let free for years.

“I have missed you,” and Lexa looked away, she tried to let her gaze find something different, something less uncertain.

As Lexa let the silence linger between them, she found herself thinking of her life, of those she had lost, of those that still remained by her side, to those that had long since left her be.

“You are tired,” Anya said quietly and Lexa watched as the woman took measured steps to her throne until she came to stand beside it, one arm finding purchase amongst the twisted wood.

“I am,” Lexa found the realisation sad, she found it empty, she found it uncertain. “What am I do to, Anya?” and Lexa didn’t think she should let her words exist, she didn’t even think she should think them lest she offend, she disrespect whatever sacrifices she had made. “I have no purpose,” and Lexa found that these words came out even more quietly, she found herself trying to find a falsehood the words she spoke.

“You are so arrogant as to think you have solved all Coalition issues?” Anya said, and Lexa saw the woman’s eyebrows quirk, she saw the smirk tug at the corners of her lips.

“No,” Lexa said, and she tried thinking of how to make sense of the words she said, of the things that filled her mind.

“Then what purpose do you lack?” Anya said.

“I—” but Lexa found that she couldn’t quite think of what to say.

But she took the time to think over Anya’s words, she took the time to think over the things she had done in her life.

“You wish to pass the flame to another?” and Anya’s chin levelled, her eyes narrowed and hardened, and Lexa knew she saw an anger beginning to fill the other woman’s eyes.

And perhaps Lexa had never quite admitted it to herself, perhaps she had never quite thought so far ahead, but perhaps she had known, she had come to expect that one day soon something would happen.

“You need not answer,” Anya continued, but Lexa was sure Anya knew more of what must have been taking place within her mind, and she knew from the way Anya’s gaze seemed to look into her with an understanding and a depth that seemed too sincere and too knowing. “You are tired.”

And Lexa found herself thinking that she was. She found herself thinking that she was tired of fighting, that she was tired of wars. But she found herself thinking she was tired of the inaction of her life now that she would soon be home, that she would soon be pacing the halls of Polis tower.

And she had always imagined what a better life for her people would be, but perhaps she had never quite imagined what it would mean for her existence, her purpose, who life.

“You must adapt, Lexa,” and she looked back to Anya to see the woman eyeing her cautiously now that the silence must have stretched on for some time. “You will adapt as I taught you how,” and Anya came to stand before her, the woman’s gaze seemed to soften just a little, and she seemed to think over memories long since passed.

“I have lived my whole life knowing my fight would end one day,” and Lexa didn’t know where her words came from, she didn’t know where the sentiment seemed to escape from, and she didn’t even know why she felt the need to say what she now said. “I have known that I would die not from growing old. Not after a life lived to old age, and not without pain,” and Lexa looked away and into a flame, and she tried to put words to the thoughts in her mind. “But now I find myself unsure of what to do next,” and she didn’t know any other way of explaining her uncertainties and her wants, not when things were so uncertain for her, not when things were so haphazard, so disarrayed, so full of a hollowness.

“There are things still worth living for,” Anya chided quietly, and Lexa looked back tot he woman to see her standing before her once more.

And perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was happenstance, coincidence even, but she heard the cry of laughter peel out from the silence around her, she heard the joy, the happiness and the youth in Jessa’s laughter that must have stemmed from something shared between child and woman.

And Lexa knew who Anya spoke of.

“No,” she found herself saying.

“No?” Anya’s eyebrow twitched up.

“She would not have me,” and Lexa grimaced at the way the words felt upon her tongue.

“You have not spoken to her of any such thing,” Anya countered.

“It is not a conversation I deserve to have,” and Lexa grit her teeth as she looked away.

But Anya snorted at that, she took a step closer still, and Lexa found herself looking up just slightly at the woman she had admired more than she could ever put into words.

“You deserve only what you are willing to fight for, Lexa.”

 

* * *

 

The day passed her by as quickly as her horse could run and as slowly as the sun travelled through the sky. But their horses now slowed their pace as the sun began to descend lower and lower in the sky, and Clarke knew scouts had travelled ahead in search of an appropriate place to make camp for the night.

Jessa yawned then, and Clarke felt the girl’s arms tighten around her waist as sleep seemed to cling more tightly to the girl. And Clarke couldn’t quite suppress the smile that pulled the corner of her lips at the memory of the day’s activities, of Jessa practising movements atop her galloping horse as they rode just ahead of the rest of the warriors, and Clarke would perhaps never admit it, but she couldn’t help but to feel pride at the way the warriors behind them had watched, had seemed impressed by the stunts Jessa was able to do despite her youth.

But perhaps what was most obvious to Clarke was the tingle she had felt every time she had let a laugh free, for she knew Lexa had watched with intensity, too, she knew the woman had taken in every interaction she had had with Jessa. And perhaps she didn’t quite let herself consider what that meant. At least for now.

And so Jessa had found herself on the back of Clarke’s horse, the day’s events leaving her tired and exhausted.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Clarke said quietly as she reached back and squeezed Jessa’s knee lightly, and she knew from experience that the girl would remain awake late into the night if she let herself fall into a slumber.

But Jessa simply hummed at that, she yawned once more, and Clarke knew the girl didn’t quite heed her words.

And so Clarke sighed, she smiled as Jessa held on a little more tightly as she began to find sleep, and she took just a moment to check on Jessa’s own horse that rode beside them.

But Clarke had found that their journey wasn’t as simple and easy as she had hoped during the day. And she had found it so for she had begun to see the faintest outlines in the distance and on the horizon. And she had seen the barely there wisps of mountains, of hills, of trees that seemed to exist in the haze of the distance, and she knew that those all meant that she approached Trikru lands, that she approached a confrontation with people she hadn’t seen in years.

But, most of all was the fact that one of those mountains in the distance was different, and she knew it to be. It’s peak seemed less kind, its hazed profile seemed less open, even the shadow it seemed to cast seemed to be darker and more brooding than the shadows around it. But for now Clarke shook those thoughts from her mind and she turned her attention to where they continued to ride, for she knew those worries were for another day, when she wasn’t so tired, when she wasn’t so preoccupied in making sure Jessa didn’t fall off the horse.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to the calm of a night. She woke to Jessa’s sleeping form huddled in the corner of the small bed they shared, and she woke to the quiet of horses neighing in the chill of the dark.

It took Clarke only a moment longer before she realised just why she had woken, and it took her another short moment as she wondered what would come to pass in the moments to come.

And so Clarke sat up carefully, she eyed Jessa who mumbled something in her sleep and she found herself slipping on loose clothing as she padded her way to the tent’s entrance.

And Clarke had come to recognise the feeling now, she had come to recognise just what it meant. Perhaps she should have thought it sad, though, perhaps she should have thought it fearful, something to recoil from, something to be wary of, but she didn’t quite think it any of those things.

And perhaps it was because she didn’t quite feel what she had once felt.

And so Clarke stepped from the tent, she let its flap close quietly and she met Ryder’s gaze that opened to her movements.

Clarke took only a moment to let him stand before she began walking away for she didn’t quite wish for any to see or hear whatever conversation she was to have.

And the night was dark, it was cool, the moon hung in the sky as bright as it ever had been, the stars seemed to glitter, they seemed to drift on the night’s wind.

Even the lands around Clarke seemed peaceful. The grasses that had sprung up around her seemed greener than they had been days prior, the dirt seemed softer, seemed to give way under her foot, even the trees that had begun to reach up into the skies were larger, more brown, more green.

And she knew all those things were because she now travelled lands close to the Trikru border. And perhaps that was why she found herself welcoming the presence she felt shadowing her steps.

Clarke wasn’t sure how far she walked, she wasn’t even sure where she walked, but she walked for minutes, for long enough that the camp’s noise didn’t reach her anymore, and she walked for long enough that she knew Ryder would caution her, would demand she stop, demand she come to a pause.

And so Clarke found herself standing at the crest of a small hill, of a small rise in the plains. The lands stretched out before her, the lands seemed to dip and dive, wend and wind out into the distances, each shifting of the ground a sign that the plains had long since been replaced.

More trees seemed to spring out before Clarke, too, each one larger and larger than the next, each tree seemingly huddled together in larger and larger groups until they bled together in the distance.

But what took Clarke’s attention the most, what took her notice was the mist in the distance, was the shadows that rose up into the sky, that dwarfed the lands.

And she knew which mountain she looked upon, she knew which dark shadow she looked at, that seemed small over the distance yet larger than she had ever imagined it to be.

Clarke looked behind her in search of Ryder, she looked into the darkness and she found that his presence was no longer felt, that he had let himself fade into the dark lest he disturb, and just for one fleeting moment Clarke found herself wondering if Ryder had overheard her last conversation, if he had told Lexa of what she had done.

But perhaps Clarke didn’t quite care.

And so Clarke found herself sitting on the grass atop the small hill, she found her eyes focusing on the Mountain in the distance, and she felt the presence by her side sit and take a place beside her.

“I never got to see what it looked like from the outside,” the voice said quietly, and Clarke felt a twitching of her lips at the words she heard.

And so Clarke found herself trying to think of the words she could say to someone who had been dead for years.


	23. Chapter 23

Clarke didn’t quite know what to think of the fact that Maya sat beside her again, she didn’t quite know what direction their conversation would go, nor did she quite know how to say to the girl what she had longed to say for days and nights.

“It’s beautiful,” Maya said, and Clarke watched as the girl’s gaze focused onto the Mountain in the distance, to the barely there peak that seemed hazed to the mist of the cold night.

Clarke turned to the Mountain then, and she tried to see the beauty, she tried to see the vision of the Mountain that Maya must have been gazing upon. And if she was honest with herself, if she was truthful, if she stripped away all she knew of what the Mountain had been, then perhaps she did think the Mountain beautiful.

And it was.

And Clarke thought the way the trees bled into a sea of green peppermint, of ghosted grey and hazy mist was breathtaking, was charming even. But perhaps most of all, she thought the beauty left behind a bitter taste upon her tongue for she couldn’t quite banish the memories of what the Mountain had done from her mind.

“It could have been,” Clarke said, and she thought she sensed Maya nod, she thought she sensed the girl hum a response.

“It could have been,” Maya agreed, and Clarke was sure she felt something begin to splinter, something begin to dampen, lessen and ebb within her heart.

“It took me a long time to accept the things I did,” Clarke said.

“I know.”

“I understand why I did them. I even understand why your people did the things they did,” and Clarke thought she did. “I think I understand why a lot of people did the things they did,” Clarke blinked for a moment as she tried to think of just how to voice what she wished to say. “Everything we did,” and she paused for a moment. For long enough that she thought that maybe she wouldn’t quite be able to say what she planned to say. “We did it to survive,” and Clarke found herself nodding as Maya remained quiet by her side. “And some of the things we did weren’t nice, weren’t good,” and she wondered what Maya would really say, what she would really do.

“I know,” Maya said simply.

“Your people did horrible things to survive,” and Clarke looked to Maya, she looked to the face that hadn’t aged a day since she had last seen her. “Your people bled others, used them to survive,” and Maya held her gaze with an understanding and an acceptance that Clarke knew not what to think of. “And the grounders,” and Clarke turned her memories to the days when she had first set foot on the ground. “They attacked, they killed, they threatened, they tortured. Demanded blood for blood with no compromise. And they did them to survive,” and yet again Clarke fell silent as she remembered the attacks, the terror, the fear. “And my people,” but she paused for yet another quiet moment. “My old people,” and she thought the distinction important enough to voice. “My old people came to the ground without care, we came to the ground thinking ourselves humanities’ last, we came to the ground and tried to take what we wanted, tried to wage war against a people who had their lives turned upside down. And we tried to hold onto a life we had known, all because we wanted to survive.”

“Would you have come down if you could have a second chance?” Maya asked.

And the question gave Clarke pause, it made her think, made her wonder where in her mind the question came from, for she was sure it must have been there somewhere, been in the corners, been lurking in the shadows as she slept, as she woke and ate, lived and hurt.

“No,” Clarke said, but Maya’s eyebrow twitched, her lips pursed and she tucked a strand of too curly hair behind an ear. “Yes,” and Clarke didn’t know which answer she spoke to be true.

“Would you have killed everyone you killed if you needed to?” Maya asked.

And Clarke thought of the first life she had taken, of when she had come across Atom after the acid fog, of how she had dipped her makeshift knife into his neck. Clarke even tried to think of the first grounder she had killed, she tried to remember what it had felt like, what it had done to her mind, what it had done to her soul. And she remembered slitting the man’s throat, she remembered the fear and the panic and disgust. She remembered taking Finn’s life, she remembered burning hundreds of Trikru warriors, she remembered Anya’s shock, and she remembered pulling the lever in Mount Weather. But, above remembering the fear, above remembering the panic and the disgust, the blood and the pain? The thing that she thought most important was that she remembered.

And so Clarke grit her teeth, she took in a steady breath and she met Maya’s questioning gaze with a confidence she knew to be true.

“Yes,” Clarke said. “I would.”

“Why?” Maya asked, and Clarke would have forgiven Maya for sounding angry, for sounding confused, she would have forgiven Maya for filling that one word with blame.

But Clarke heard none of that.

“Because I did it to survive,” Clarke answered. “I’m not proud of what I did. I don’t ever want to be proud of what I did. And in a perfect world I don’t ever want to do things like that again,” but Clarke knew the chances of that to be slim, if only because she had found herself shadowed by Ryder, and camped with the Commander’s warriors due to her need to take life. “But I’d do it all again because there’s no point regretting things you can’t change. There’s no point holding onto something when all it will do is make you another victim of your mistakes,” and Clarke didn’t quite know if what she said made sense, if what she voiced sounded sincere or practical, truthful and honest. “All I can do is accept what’s happened,” she paused once more then, and she found herself thinking of Jessa, she found herself thinking of Raska, of Ten and Jorda, of the plains, of the trees, of the forests, of her people, of anyone and everyone she had ever met. “All I can do is learn from my mista—” But Clarke bit the word back before it fully formed.

“All you can do is learn from your mistakes?” Maya prodded carefully.

“No,” and Clarke found that her head shook, that she seemed to not quite find her gaze settling on anything for too long. “My actions,” she said. “They can’t be mistakes. Taking life should never be a mistake. It should never be explained like that. Not when someone dies,” and perhaps that realisation was something Clarke, for a long time, had been searching for.

And so she looked away again, she looked to the horizon, to the dark of the night, to the shimmerings of the stars and to the drifting of the wind in the sky.

“I don’t think she would blame you, Clarke,” Maya said, and Clarke turned back to the girl to see a face that hadn’t aged a day, where pain didn’t exist within dark eyes, whose skin was as unblemished as it had been before the end. “I don’t think Maya would blame you for anything you did.”

And perhaps Clarke hoped the words she heard were true, and she knew she did so for she couldn’t stand the thought that Maya’s sacrifice would have been for nought.

“I hope so, too, Maya,” Clarke said.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s feet continued to tread lightly as she made her way back to the camp, her path illuminated by the moon’s light overhead. Ryder walked behind her, his own steps shadowing hers with ease and familiarity.

Clarke couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ryder must have heard some of what she had said to Maya though, and she couldn’t shake the feeling for she felt Ryder’s gaze drilling into her with curiosity and guarded intrigue, and she was sure, she was certain that he would tell another, would speak of it to the Commander. But as Clarke continued to walk forwards tiredly she found herself not so caring of that realisation.

If only because she found herself tired to living with worry.

 

* * *

 

“Heda,” Lexa looked up as Ryder remained by her tent’s entrance, the man’s gaze careful as he took in the way she looked upon the map on her table.

“Ryder?” she asked, and she saw him think for a moment, she saw him ponder word and thought.

“Clarke,” he began, and Lexa couldn’t quite help but to feel a pressure behind her eyes at mention of the other woman who she had hardly spoken to since leaving Raska.

“Yes?” Lexa pushed off from the side of the table and came to stand, chin levelled, shoulders squared.

“She wakes in the middle of the night, Heda,” Ryder began, and Lexa watched as he shifted on his feet for a moment, she watched as a shadow swallowed the scar upon his face, and she watched as he clenched his jaw in worry or concern.

“She wakes in the middle of the night?” but Lexa didn’t quite think that fact too surprising, if only because she did so herself in times of uncertainty, in times of change and unease, and she was sure Clarke must have been in such a time.

“Yes,” Ryder continued, and Lexa could see an uncertainty living behind his eyes.

“Speak, Ryder.”

And so Ryder sighed, he stepped forward just enough that a candle’s light bathed him orange, enough that she had to shift her gaze just a little.

“She talks to ghosts, Heda,” Ryder said simply.

And it wasn’t that it seemed a life changing revelation, it wasn’t that she had never experienced shock and awe, surprise and anger, it wasn’t that she had never faced a truth that had made her heart clench, but that revelation gave her a second of contemplation, of guarded worry, and Lexa didn’t quite know what to think.

“She talks to ghosts?” perhaps probing for more would suffice.

“Last night, Heda,” Ryder continued. “She spoke to someone called Maya,” and Ryder paused as he remembered whatever conversation Clarke must have had. “I believe Maya was from the Mountain.”

Lexa didn’t really know what to do with the revelation, she didn’t know what she could say, or what she would say. She didn’t even really think she knew just how to feel.

“Thank you, Ryder,” perhaps dismissing Ryder, perhaps hiding away from whatever ache she felt forming in her chest was enough for the moment.

And so she watched as Ryder bowed his head, as he turned, and as he exited her tent.

Lexa waited just another moment before she turned from her tent’s entrance and let out whatever shaky breath she found herself to have been holding deep within her lungs.

She found that an ache seemed to have formed in her chest at Ryder’s words, and Lexa couldn’t help but to let her eyes close, let her fists clench by her sides, let her lips purse and tighten.

Lexa didn’t even really know why it was that she now felt the way she did, she didn’t know how to put into words what it was. Not fully at least, for she knew she felt a hollowness that seemed to grow, that seemed to take place of whatever spark of something that she had thought beginning to form with Clarke’s appearance.

Perhaps it was a hollowness at the acceptance that Clarke spoke to her own demons, that Clarke spoke to those long gone, for Lexa was sure this person from the Mountain to not be the sole of the other woman’s demons.

And maybe it was Lexa’s fault, maybe it was due to her actions that Clarke was now blessed with the same curse that had befallen her, that would now make Clarke see her demons, her past, would have no one but the dead to talk to, to share her problems with, to confide with, and above all, if she was completely honest with herself, if she cast aside any worry for being seen as weak, Lexa wished she had never made Clarke suffer as she did, and she wished Clarke would have someone other than the dead to seek for comfort.

And the reason for that was simple for her to understand, the truth of why she felt the way she did was easy enough for her to grasp.

And so it shouldn’t have surprised Lexa when she felt the shaking in her breath, when she felt the moisture clinging to the corners of her eyes, or the tremble in her fingers.

But it did surprise her to feel all those things.

And for why it surprised her, she couldn’t quite tell.

Perhaps it was because she never wished to have caused Clarke the pain she must have caused, maybe it was because she felt guilt at what she had done, however justified she had felt in the moment, regardless of her duty to her people. Or, perhaps it was a regret, a regret for the years she had lost, for the years Clarke had lived, or for the years since becoming Heda that she had spent trying to do what she thought was right for her people. Regret for whatever life she had resigned herself not to live.

But most importantly, she felt a sadness. And it was a selfish sadness, a hollow sadness, a pathetic sadness. But a sadness nonetheless. And it was a sadness for, deep down, she had hoped Clarke would have spoken to her, would have confronted, would have done more than she had, would have tried to cross whatever distance between them both, would have even given her a sign, a message, something fuelled by anger and fury, something driven by a want for revenge or justice.

Something more than the nothing.

And so, for the first morning in a very long time, Lexa let her weakness take hold for longer than it should as she came to her aching knees in the centre of her cold and empty tent, she let her trembling hands wipe away whatever wetness would give voice to her pain, and she tried not to think of much more than how pathetic she would seem to anyone who had once known her but was now nothing more than a ghosted memory.

And maybe she needed the moment she stole, maybe she had needed it for a very long time. And perhaps she would always ne—

“You disappoint me, Lexa.”

The voice sent a chill down her spine, it sent a shiver through her flesh, it made her breath still and her lungs turn to stone.

Lexa’s eyes opened slowly, and she couldn’t hold back the hate, the fury, the anger and pain that seemed to take hold of her mind every time she had seen the face that now looked to her.

“What do you want?” and Lexa didn’t mean to sound so surly, so childish, so sullen and unlike who she should sound like.

Nia’s lip twitched at the corners as the woman began to stalk around Lexa slowly, the furs of her clothes swaying with each subtle step she took and each careful motion she made.

“What I want is not important anymore,” the woman said from somewhere behind her.

“Then why?” and Lexa wiped away the moisture upon her cheek as she turned to track the woman who moved around her.

“Then why?” Nia asked.

“Why here, why now?”

“You called me here,” Nia answered. “I do not know why.”

Lexa came to her feet as she moved to put distance between them both, and she found memories coming to the forefront of her mind, memories of cold, memories of death, of shouts and cries of anger and fury, pain and suffering, memories of the chill of a blade in her hands and the feel of blood that wetted her knuckles as she plunged sharpened point into body more times than she should have.

“You disappoint me,” Nia said once more, and Lexa couldn’t help but to roll her eyes, couldn’t help but to sneer.

“I do not care what you think,” Lexa answered as she came to sit in her throne, as she found her gaze hardening, as she found her chest tightening.

“I know,” Nia answered as she came to stand before her. “I do not think you care for what I think,” Nia paused then, and she took a moment to look around her, and Lexa watched as the woman looked to the weapons laid out in one corner of the tent, Lexa watched as the woman’s gaze lingered on her sleep things, and Lexa watched as Nia’s gaze fell to the map covered table. “But it is true,” Nia said eventually. “You disappoint me.”

“And why is that?” Lexa said.

“The girl I first met,” and Nia’s lips twisted into a smile. “The girl who infuriated me, the girl who made me want to take her head from her shoulders,” but Nia paused again as she thought of what to say. “She would not have cowered in her tent as you do now.”

“I do not cower in my tent,” Lexa snapped.

But Nia ignored her response as she moved to where her weapons lay, and Lexa watched as Nia’s finger trailed over a sword’s blade, its edge sharp, scratched, chipped away at.

“The girl who became a woman,” Nia said. “The woman who I swore to kill, the woman who I swore would lie dead at my feet now disappoints me,” Nia turned back to her. “The woman who ignored her heart breaking, the woman who cast aside more than I expected for her people now cowers in her tent like a child who lost their mother or father.”

Lexa felt the ache beginning to thump somewhere behind her ear, somewhere deep in her skull, somewhere in the very fibres of her flesh and blood.

“You can not imagine how disappointed I feel to know that someone who killed me turned into this,” and Nia raised a hand and let it wave in her direction.

Lexa remained silent at that, and she didn’t know what to say, but perhaps it wasn’t for lack of words or thoughts that she wished to voice, but rather, it was simply because she knew the things she wished to say were unbecoming of Heda, were unbecoming of the person she should be, of who she was.

“You come to antagonise me?” Lexa asked, and she felt herself lean back in her throne as Nia turned back to her fully and took a step forward. “Is that all you wish to do?”

“I come,” and Nia stepped forward again, she stepped forward until her feet came to stop just before Lexa’s own feet. “Because you called for me.”

“I did not call for you, nor did I ever wish to see your face again,” Lexa said.

“I believe you,” Nia laughed, but the sound seemed more like the biting cold of an Azgeda wind than the warmth of a rising sun. “But only the second half of what you say.”

“I did not call for you.”

“But you did,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to recoil as Nia leant down, as Nia came to kneel until their eyes were level. “You did call for me,” Nia’s voice came a little closer than Lexa wished it to.

“What do you want?” Lexa repeated, ands he found that her gaze couldn’t shift from Nia’s.

Nia paused at that, and Lexa watched as the woman considered her words, she watched as Nia’s gaze seemed to shift, seemed to search, and she watched as Nia’s thoughts settled on an answer, on a revelation.

“Where did you go?” Nia asked.

“Where did I go?”

“When she broke you,” Nia said.

“When who broke me?”

“Do not play the role of a blind and a mute, Lexa. You do a disservice to the years you have endured to simply act a fool now that we are as close as we will ever be.”

Lexa looked away, she looked away and she found herself trying to reconcile her thoughts and the things she had refused to accept for years.

And so Lexa found it ironic that the only person she would reveal the truth to was someone who had once been responsible for breaking her heart, who had been responsible for the suffering she would endure until the sky had fallen and consumed her actions with each breath she was to take.

“A part of me died at the Mountain,” and Lexa’s gaze snapped to Nia’s to see the woman smiling a little more warmly than she had ever done when she lived.

“Why?” Nia asked.

But Lexa didn’t think she could voice, she didn’t think she could let it exist for herself to hear, for herself to speak.

“Love is weakness,” Lexa’s voice seemed softer, seemed smaller than it ever had been. “To be Commander is to be alone,” and Lexa didn’t know what to feel as Nia came to stand, and Lexa didn’t know how to feel as Nia’s hand reached out and came to rest against her cheek, as she cradled the side of her face. “In everything.”

“The Lexa I once knew would never shy from a battle,” Nia said, and Lexa found that the woman’s gaze seemed kinder than it ever had been. “No matter how much she feared the outcome,” and Nia brushed her hand against Lexa’s cheek with a care that seemed tender, that seemed full of warm and kindness. “It would disappoint me if that woman no longer existed.”

And so Lexa found herself staring up into the face of a woman she had hated for as long as she could remember, whose face had been the reason she had lost all she had, whose face had tormented her sleep for years. Until one day it hadn’t.

But the warmth Lexa seemed to look upon within Nia’s gaze vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and what replaced it was a cold, was an emptiness and a hate.

“Where is the woman who faced me in battle?” Nia said, and her voice came out cold. “Where is the woman who plunged her sword into my chest so many times that her warriors had to pull her off what was once my body?” Nia’s fingers tightened around Lexa’s cheek. “Where is the woman who executed the warriors who would not kneel before her?” Nia’s nails seemed to cut into her cheek. “Where is the woman who did not break when she was delivered Costia’s head?”

 

* * *

 

“When did this happen?” Clarke asked as she lifted Jessa’s chin carefully.

“Yesterday,” Jessa winced as Clarke ran a finger over the cut on the girl’s chin.

“And you didn’t show me?” Clarke said, and she found herself frowning as she eyed the small but deep gash.

“I tried fixing it myself,” and Clarke could see Jessa had tried to apply paste to the wound from the smudges of red paste that still clung to her skin.

“You did a bad job,” Clarke sighed as she let go of Jessa’s chin and turned to her pack.

“I know,” and Jessa winced as she reached up and touched the cut herself.

Clarke wasted no time beginning to sort through the small amounts of medicines she would need to clean and tend to Jessa’s small cut, and she searched for sutures and clean bandages.

“Jorda will be impressed when we return,” Clarke said as she thought of the way Jessa had been able to swivel in the saddle as her horse had run full speed. “Maybe he’ll start getting you to fire an arrow on horseback.”

“I can already,” Jessa said as Clarke turned back to her only to swat the girl’s hand away from the cut on her chin as she scratched at an edge.

“You can?” Clarke hummed.

“Yes,” Jessa said simply, but Clarke could tell there was more from the way the girl’s tone lifted just a little.

“But?”

“I can’t hit anything yet,” and Clarke laughed as Jessa poked her ribs lightly in feigned annoyance. “It’s not funny,” Jessa said.

“It is,” Clarke said. “Just a little bit. Now hold still, this will sting a bit.”

And so Jessa simply tutted lightly as Clarke lifted the girl’s chin again and began to wipe away whatever paste Jessa had applied herself, all the while the lands around them glowed with the setting of the sun.

But Clarke looked up from Jessa’s chin as she heard the approach of feet to find a Trikru warrior moving towards them, a pack in his arms and his eyes a little careful as he took both of them in.

“Heda sent me,” the man said simply at Clarke’s raised eyebrow. “I am a healer,” and Clarke’s gaze narrowed just a little as she looked around them to see some warriors milling about their own small campfires, some in the midst of cooking or conversation, some finding rest where they could, and others in the near distance sparring.

“Thanks for the offer,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what else to say. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” she finished, but she found herself looking around them once more, for she was sure the Commander must have been near, must have been close by.

“Forgive me,” the man said simply. “But I was instructed not to leave without seeing to the girl,” and Clarke watched as he eyed the cut on Jessa’s chin.

Clarke took a moment to think over what the man said, and what she knew, and perhaps it couldn’t hurt, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let the healer look at Jessa’s wound.

And so Clarke sighed, she looked to Jessa for confirmation, and as Jessa simply shrugged and turned to face the man, Clarke waved the man forward as she settled back and watched.

The healer rummaged in his pack quickly, his eyes ever focused on Jessa’s cut before moving to the small pile of supplies Clarke had laid out herself, and Clarke was sure the man made a mental note of the things she used, of the things she had planned to use.

“You are a healer, too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I am,” and Clarke looked around them, to the few tents that had been erected, to those that were still wrapped, and to the warriors who continued to mill about. But she found that her gaze was drawn to the largest of the tents yet again, and she found a thought and an idea coming to form within her mind. Clarke looked back to Jessa in time to see the girl wincing just a little as the healer dabbed lightly at her cut with a bitter smelling cloth. “Will you be ok?” Clarke asked.

“Yes,” Jessa answered, and Clarke saw the own girl’s eyes narrow just a little at her.

“I won’t be long,” Clarke said as she eyed the healer before she rose to her feet.

And so Clarke began to weave her way through the tents and warriors, through the camp fires. She wrapped her arms around herself lightly as the wind picked up, and as Clarke continued to move towards the largest of the tents she found that the lands seemed almost green now, seemed to roll more freely in every direction, and even the trees seemed to remind her of the forests she had once run through when she had first arrived on the ground.

And before long Clarke found herself standing at the entrance to the Commander’s tent, she found herself worrying her lip and she found Ryder standing before her, his gaze a little less guarded than days prior.

“You wish to enter?” he asked, and Clarke took just a moment longer before nodding.

“Yes,” she said.

And so Ryder nodded before ducking into the tent’s entrance.

And it probably only lasted a few short seconds, but in the time that Ryder disappeared, Clarke found thoughts moving through her mind of things she couldn’t quite fathom, of things she couldn’t quite grasp. And perhaps it was the fact that the days that had passed had seemed a blur, perhaps it was the fact that she had spent most of her time travelling with the Commander in avoidance of her, perhaps it was the fact that neither of them had tried to reach out, had tried to speak any more than required.

And perhaps it was a sense of incompleteness, of unfinished business, of something that needed to be said and something needed to be done. Or maybe it was a spur of the moment decision, maybe it was the fact that a healer had been sent, that through action, if not word, the Commander had tried to do something.

“You may enter,” Ryder said as he stepped out from the tent.

Clarke took in a deep breath then, she glanced behind her and looked to Jessa in the short distance who grimaced just a little as the healer began to suture her wound, and Clarke found herself wondering why she had felt comfortable leaving Jessa in the hands of someone sent by the Commander.

Perhaps she was about to find out.

And so Clarke looked forward and she stepped into the tent.

It was a sight Clarke thought she had come to recognise well after so many times. That same table stood in the centre of the tent, those same candles burned, the sheer fabric to one side that hid away sleep quarters remained swaying to what little wind made its way into the tent. Even the throne sat where it always had.

“You wished to speak with me?” and Clarke’s gaze snapped to the woman who stood by her table, a plate of food before her, a small beaker of warm drink not far from the edge.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Clarke began as she realised Lexa must have been in the middle of a meal.

“You are not interrupting,” and the words came with a shrug, with a careful tone that seemed uncertain.

“I am,” Clarke answered, but she found that she didn’t mind being lied to, not like this anyway.

“You are not, Clarke,” Lexa said, and from Lexa’s voice Clarke couldn’t help but to think the woman spoke a truth.

“Thank you,” and perhaps getting through whatever it was that she had come to say was the simplest thing for her to do. “For sending the healer to look after Jessa.”

“She was hurt,” Lexa said simply, her words cutting off the ends with a stiffness that seemed a little closed, a little reluctant, but perhaps, if Clarke really listened, she thought she sensed in Lexa a want for her to continue to speak, to continue to voice more than had been voiced between either woman for days.

“The weather’s changing,” and perhaps if it was another time, Clarke would have smiled at the way Lexa seemed taken aback by her words. “I don’t know if its getting colder, if its getting warmer, or if the wind just feels different.”

Clarke didn’t quite know what to expect when she let her words end though, and maybe she expected Lexa to nod, to answer, to agree with her assessment. And of all the things Clarke had expected Lexa to do, it wasn’t what she now did.

Lexa remained standing, her eyes just slightly wider than before, her lips just slightly parted, but Clarke was sure she could see the woman thinking, she was sure she could see the woman trying to reorganise whatever it was that seemed to have become stilled within her mind.

But no sooner than Clarke noticed the woman’s surprise, had Lexa reacted. And she reacted subtly, carefully.

Lexa nodded just once before speaking, “yes,” and Clarke felt the woman’s gaze search her’s. “The weather changes,” Lexa continued.

“Yeah,” and Clarke waited a moment as she watched Lexa continue to think over what little conversation now moved between them both.

“You must be proud,” Lexa said then, and Clarke guessed she spoke of Jessa. “Jessa will become an accomplished horsewoman.”

“She tries hard,” Clarke said, and she kew she couldn’t quite hide the pride she did feel that Jessa improved with each lesson. “She hasn’t been old enough to start firing arrows on horseback yet, but she’s close,” and Clarke continued to watch as Lexa remained standing by her table.

But Clarke also saw Lexa’s mind narrow on a memory, she saw the woman think, consider and gauge how well received whatever she was to say would be.

“You are an accomplished horsewoman, too.”

And it came simple, it came careful, light and deceptively easy upon Lexa’s lips.

“Yeah,” Clarke said, and she continued to watch Lexa think more openly than she thought the woman knew. “I like it,” Clarke said.

“Yes,” and Lexa nodded at that.

And perhaps now Clarke wasn’t so sure what to say. For some reason she couldn’t find it in herself to confront Lexa about the things that had happened between them, not in the moment she now found herself. Maybe it was because she wished to face her other problems first, perhaps she wished to make sure she could face those she had left behind without breaking before she even dared to face the thing that had set her life on a path she had never anticipated.

And perhaps she was simply scared. Maybe the answer was that she was afraid of what any such conversation would uncover, maybe she feared the possibility that facing her past would simply invite it back into her thoughts rather than bidding it one last farewell. Perhaps even, it would cause her to lose her sanity, lose her s—

“Ryder says you do not sleep well,” Lexa’s words cut into her thoughts, and Clarke found herself blinking back the surprise as her gaze focused back on Lexa who watched her with a guarded worry that seemed genuine, that seemed careful, unsure of how to proceed.

“I—” and perhaps this was what Clarke feared, perhaps not quite being able to face her demons was what she had feared.

“Forgive me, Clarke,” Lexa said quickly, and Clarke was sure she saw the woman curse herself. “I did not mean to upset,” and she knew she saw Lexa’s fingers clench by her side as she looked away for the barest of moments. “It is not my place to intrude.”

“No,” Clarke didn’t know whether she was to agree with, or to dismiss the woman’s words. “It’s ok,” she didn’t quite know how to explain. “It’s just being this close,” but she found that she trailed off, that she didn’t quite know what thing it was that she seemed to close to that now made her mind bring forth old haunts.

“I understand,” Lexa said, and Clarke thought she sensed a sincerity in her words, she was sure she sensed a sadness, too.

And so Clarke sighed, she scuffed a foot against the fur by her feet and she took just a moment longer to gaze around the tent before gesturing behind her.

“I should get back to Jessa,” she said. “I don’t mean to take more of your time,” she turned to leave before waiting for Lexa to say anything, before waiting to hear whatever it was that she was sure would be said, but, just as she reached the tent’s exit Clarke thought she sensed something, she was sure she sensed a need for her to do something more, if only little by little, by small step by small step. “Thank you, Lexa,” Clarke said as she turned back to find the woman still remained where she had stood during their conversation. “For the healer,” and Clarke bit her lip in uncertainty, she took in a deep breath and she tried not to let her voice shake too much as she nodded just once more. “Good night.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke took in a deep breath as she stepped out from the Commander’s tent, as she let the cold of a now dark night take her body to colder places. Ryder met her gaze then, and she saw him nod to her as she moved past and began making her way back to where the tent she had shared with Jessa had been erected.

Most of the warriors now huddled around fires as they shared small meals, as they laughed, spoke and took turns to jive and jest amongst themselves as quiet beats of music seemed to echo out around them. The sound brought a smile to Clarke’s lips then, and she was sure it was because she could understand their excitement for being close to home, to being close to a familiar bed, a familiar embrace and a familiar company.

But despite the warmth of those around her, Clarke couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she had left yet more things unsaid between herself and the Commander, and perhaps she felt as though she had simply made things more complicated, more infused with uncertainty now that she had muddied the waters somewhere between guarded distance and careful approach. But for now Clarke found sleep calling to her and so she turned her attention back to where she walked as she laid eyes upon the red stained fabric of her tent.

The healer sat outside her tent as he packed his things, and he looked up at Clarke’s approach and smiled carefully as he came to stand.

“She is sleeping,” he said. “I gave her medicine to help with infection. It often makes many seek sleep,” and Clarke watched as he shrugged on his pack and nodded to her. “There is food for you both,” he finished as he began to move away.

And so Clarke found herself thanking him as she ducked into her tent to find Jessa curled in on herself, the girl’s chest rising slowly, her eyes closed and her chin bandaged and stained a green-grey.

True to the healer’s words, Clarke found a plate of freshly cooked meats, dried berries and roasted vegetables laid near to her bed. And so Clarke came to sit with her back to her bed and her legs kicked out before her as she looked out of a small parting in her tent’s entrance.

From where Clarke sat she could see the lands stretching out in the distance, she could see the Mountain that stood out more clearly, she could see the trees that seemed more real, more defined, more lifelike. She could see birds that flitted through the dark, she could see those that braved the last of the night’s light as the sun truly began to set, and she could see the beginnings of stars and the moon that now took its rightful place in the sky overhead.

Clarke thought all those things beautiful, she thought all those things calming, something to embrace, something to think of as more than a memory of times once bad, of times once spent in fear, in anger and hurt and loss.

But most of all, Clarke thought those things a future, a sign that change was to come, that could only come if she was to take a step forward and not one back.

She smiled just a little as the music continued to echo out around her, and she smiled for it reminded her of the times when she had first landed on the ground with the other prisoners, when they had thoughts the land was theirs for the taking, when they had spent nights living with no care, no worry. When they had been too foolish to know what lay in wait for them.

And so Clarke sighed, she leant her shoulder against the presence by her side and she tried not to let her happiness move too closely to the sadness that she knew to be just barely kept at bay.

“So,” and he paused, he took a moment to look around them, to the tent and all her few belongings scattered about, and to the gap in the tent where the lands stretched out before them. “This is what it’s like?” and she heard the wonder, she heard the longing.

“Yeah,” Clarke found herself saying tiredly as she let her head rest against his shoulder just as they had once done as children. “This is what it’s like, Wells.”


	24. Chapter 24

They must have sat side by side for minutes of silence. The sun seemed to hover somewhere just below the horizon where it sat high enough to cut a swath of light through the trees, and low enough to turn the sky a deep purple.

“You must be proud of her,” Wells said eventually, and Clarke knew he spoke of Jessa.

“I am,” she answered as she looked up at him from where her head remained resting against his shoulder.

“Do you remember what we used to wish for?” Wells continued, “when we’d look down on Earth from the Ark?”

“I do,” Clarke said, and she found that her memories turned to their pasts, to their memories and moments shared.

“We never thought we’d feel the air in our hair, or the wind against our skin, or what it was like to feel rain,” and Clarke hummed a response at the words she heard.

“We didn’t,” and she wondered just where her mind would take this conversation.

Wells fell silent once more, and Clarke didn’t mind, not much, not when she remembered the times they had shared that had been happy and carefree.

But Clarke sensed that Wells wished to say something more from the way his breathing seemed to hang just for a moment after each inhale.

“What?” she said, and her voice seemed softer and quieter now.

“Do you remember what we talked about all those years ago?” and Clarke remembered the pain, she remembered the nights of wandering, of shivering in the cold, she remembered finding the abandoned building, the broken ruins, the game of chess they had played.

And she recalled the regret she had felt, she recalled the guilt that had taken years to settle, that had never quite faded, had never quite left the back of her mind.

“I do,” she said, and she heard Jessa murmur softly in the sleep that had been brought on by the medicine.

“And what about now, Clarke?” Wells asked.

And perhaps the question was expected, was something obvious for her to have expected, but Clarke found that she moved her head from his shoulder and took a moment to turn to him fully.

“I don’t know,” she said, and it was truthful.

“You don’t know?”

The question was careful, it held no judgement, and was merely curious.

“I don’t know,” Clarke repeated as she let their gazes meet. “I don’t know,” and she looked away for a moment as she tried thinking of how to put into words what she thought. “I’ll always live with the regret,” and she thought that a fact. “I’ll always live with the guilt,” and Clarke looked to Jessa whose faced seemed peaceful in sleep. “I’ll always carry the deaths with me for as long as I continue to breathe,” and she trailed off as she looked down to her hands, as she looked to the lines that etched their way across her palm, and she found that she imagined them as paths her life had taken, as choices she had made, of things she could have done, things that perhaps she should have done, and even things she would have done if things had been different.

But those things, those moments, they had all happened, had been things she had needed to roll with, to accept, to embrace lest she lose herself to whatever darkness had threatened to consume her if she had let it.

And so Clarke looked back to wells only to find him looking to her with a quiet ease that she had once known and longed for.

“I don’t hurt as much as I used to,” Clarke said and knew that years ago that truth would have seemed less welcomed, would have seemed too far removed from where she had been. “But it’s still there, it’s still something I live with.”

“I know,” Wells said sadly.

“Maybe in time I’ll stop hurting, maybe I’ll be able to look back on the things I’ve done and think of the good that’s come from them,” and Clarke found that her head shook a little as she wondered what that would feel like to not even feel the regret. “But for now I’m happy to settle with accepting that things happened that I can’t change, and that things will happen that I won’t like.”

“But you found the beauty in the world?” Wells asked.

“I did,” Clarke said, and she knew Wells spoke of Jessa, she knew he spoke of Raska, of Ten and Jorda, of whatever her life had become. “And maybe I’ll keep looking for it everywhere I go, maybe the things I’ve done will be the drive I need to make sure I don’t lose myself to the pain again,” and perhaps, as Clarke found herself trailing off yet again, she thought her words must have sounded farfetched, too lofty for where she was now.

“I think you’ll be ok, Clarke,” Wells said.

“You think so?” she asked.

“I do,” and he nodded as he turned back to the small opening before them.

And so a silence settled over them both as they continued to watch the darkening of the night, and through it all, Clarke found that Wells took her hand in his and squeezed it as tightly as they had done when they had lived with little care and little worry.

 

* * *

 

The remainder of their journey through the plains and to the Trikru border went by quickly, the few days left passed by a blur of lessons with Jessa, of shared comfort in the quiet of the night, and to the constant presence Clarke could feel in the back of her mind.

She didn’t speak much to the Commander either, both women growing more and more unsure of where they stood, and what existed between them as their agreed upon parting drew ever closer. But for some reason that Clarke couldn’t quite fathom, she found that whatever it was seemed inconsequential in the moment, and perhaps it was because she thought that there were times to be had, things left to do before she confronted that last part of her past.

And so Clarke pulled her horse to a stop, she rolled her shoulders and she took a moment to look upon Jessa whose gaze seemed guarded, seemed careful in the afternoon light.

Trees stood up from the grounder, their trunks were large and broad, moss covered and cracked to the weather, their leaf covered branches swayed in the wind and the darkness of their shadows seemed to swallow the depths of the forest from view.

Clarke turned back over her shoulder to find that warriors had already lined up a path away in the opposite direction, many clearly eager and happy to have returned to their clan’s lands.

But Clarke’s gaze fell to the Commander who sat atop her own horse, whose gaze seemed careful and quiet, and whose knuckles were whitened as she took in whatever it was that she saw.

And she was sure it lasted barely a second, but their gazes met and Clarke thought a conversation must have passed between them both, she was sure questions and answers, words and thoughts must have existed that neither of them were brave enough to let free.

And so Clarke let her hand rise in a lonely motion, she let her fingers spread ever so slightly in the air, and she tried not to let the odd sensation that seemed to sit in her stomach be seen as she waved one last farewell to those who had accompanied them through the plains.

 

* * *

 

Clarke ran fast, her eyes snapped from swaying branch to rustling bush, even her ears seemed to be picking up the barest noises that approached and darted away. Jessa ducked under a branch then, and Clarke took only a moment to grimace at the way it snagged at the girl’s hair before she turned her attention back in front of her.

But she cursed as quickly as her gaze settled onto the stillness of the forest around them, and so too did Jessa as the girl came to a heaving stop beside her, the girl’s bow already drawn, her eyes glaring into the dark.

“Where did it go?” Jessa hissed, and Clarke knew the girl cursed her own eagerness, her own inability to hold still for just a moment longer before letting loose an arrow.

Clarke shushed the girl gently as she let her eyes peer out around them, and she found her gaze drawn to the forest floor, to the disturb mud and stick, bush and stone.

Clarke saw the hoof prints, she saw he way mud seemed to rise just a little as an animal must have pushed off, she even saw the barely there twisted leaf and broken stick of a bush that seemed trampled and flattened.

And so Clarke pointed in the direction, she felt Jessa’s eyes follow the motion and she turned to find the girl drawing back her arrow yet again as her breathing stilled and her arm stayed steady.

Jessa began to creep forward in a low crouch, the girl’s deep and dark red clothes doing little to help blend into the green of the forest around them, but her movements helped to combat that as she kept low to the ground and made sure her steps were silent.

Clarke found herself smiling quietly at the sight of Jessa stalking forward, each motion she made purposeful and comfortable, and Clarke knew she felt a pride. And she thought it because Jessa had taken to the plains as well as she could have, as well as any her age could have been expected. But Clarke also knew she felt a relief that, after losing what she had after the missile had struck Ton DC, she had been able to grow, been able to find a way to push through whatever demons had plagued her own thoughts.

Perhaps deep down Clarke knew their few days already spent within the forests had been trying for the girl, if only because she was sure Jessa was beginning to remember things she would rather leave her be.

But a twanging and a thump brought Clarke’s attention back to the present and she looked around to find Jessa coming to stand easily, her bow already slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face as she turned to face her.

“I got it,” Jessa said as she beckoned Clarke forward.

And so Clarke smiled a little more carefree than she had done in a while as they began moving to where the slain animal lay in the bushes.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to a quiet night and to a fire that burned lowly before her. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmed light before she found herself able to see the shapes of the trees and bushes that spread out around her.

Jessa sat by the fire, arms wrapped around herself and her eyes peering into the nothingness of flame and burning wood. Clarke sat then, her motions careful so as not to disturb the girl but she found that Jessa’s gaze moved just briefly to her before back to the flame.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jessa said, and Clarke watched as the girl shivered just a little before moving closer to the fire.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asked.

“Yes,” Jessa nodded, but Clarke thought there something more to it.

And so Clarke rose, she pulled the furs with her and she moved over to the girl before coming to sit beside her. And perhaps Clarke didn’t quite know what to say, and maybe she need not say anything at all for she thought she could understand the uncertainties that seemed to have sprung forth out of nowhere.

In the moment Clarke came to realise that perhaps all that was needed was company, was companionship, and for both of them to not feel alone in whatever burdens they had, and so she found herself thinking back to the start, to the beginning, to when she had been young and foolish, unsure and uncertain of what the ground was.

“At the Mountain,” Clarke began quietly, and she sensed Jessa’s body stiffen just a little. “I did things,” Clarke continued, and she found herself looking out into the dark of the forest, into the green of the moss that was barely aglow by the firelight, and even up into the trees, into the sky overhead where stars just barely broke through the canopy of green.

“I know,” and Jessa shifted enough that she could wrap herself in part of the furs Clarke wore around her shoulder.

“I know,” Clarke echoed, but perhaps she thought it important for Jessa to understand more than the stories that must have been told, that would have been told. “Some of them were my friends,” and Clarke looked out into the shadows that surrounded them. “Some were innocent,” Clarke took in a steady breath as she found herself thinking of the Commander, of the woman who had turned her back on what they had been, what they could have become. “Someone made a choice for me that I wish they never made,” and Clarke felt Jessa nod gently, the motion unsure, perhaps a little tired. “So I had to do things to make sure my people survived.”

“And that is why you left,” Jessa said, and Clarke knew the girl understood more than she should.

“Yeah,” Clarke answered. “I couldn’t bring myself to face the consequences, I thought I needed to be punished, to suffer for the things I had done.”

“You did,” Jessa said, and Clarke knew the girl spoke of her time wandering the forest.

“I did,” and Clarke wrapped an arm around Jessa’s shoulders. “It’s taken me a while to figure things out, to realise what I needed to do,” and Clarke wondered just a little whether what she now did was wise, was worth whatever pains she was sure would resurface. “But that’s why we’re here, Jessa,” and Jessa’s head leant against her shoulder. “That’s why I’m here,” and Clarke found that she hoped the girl understood, that the girl didn’t think she had been dragged from her home simply because Clarke needed a change or had lost faith in whatever it was that she had come to believe in. “I just need to make things right,” and perhaps it was ironic that the steps she had taken so far had all skipped by the Commander, had skipped by whatever awkwardness and unspoken futures they had once thought possible.

“You never really spoke to her,” Jessa whispered, and Clarke looked down to see the girl looking up at her, eyes wide and shining in the firelight, her freckles ever youthful, her hair aflame and aglow in the depths of the dark. “The Commander,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what to say.

And perhaps Clarke should have known Jessa would have known more, would have guessed, observed and understood.

“I was afraid,” Clarke said and she was, was afraid and that fear still lingered. “I am afraid of what I’ll do, of what I’ll say. When all I want to do is move on, is not lose myself again,” and Clarke was surprised to find that her tears began to fall slowly, that whatever burdens she had carried with her seemed to ebb and flow at will, seemed to cascade and crumble with little worry for anything more than just existing.

“Maybe she is, too?” Jessa asked, and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile at the way Jessa’s eyebrows quirked together in thought. “Maybe you both are scared of not knowing what will happen?” and the questions the girl voiced seemed too youthful, seemed too innocent given the past.

“Maybe,” Clarke said, and she leant down and pressed her lips to Jessa’s forehead lightly as the girl yawned. “But sleep,” Clarke whispered. “We’ll get where we’re going soon.”

 

* * *

 

Travelling through Trikru lands became harder and harder with each passing day. The trees began to cling together with greater eagerness as each the hours passed, and Clarke found that their journey on horse back would sometimes slow to a crawl as she navigated through what little gaps in the forest she could find. And perhaps she should have expected to get lost, perhaps she should have expected to not have been able to find her way, but she found that Jessa seemed to know the way with an uncanny sense of direction, and so too did Clarke find that she thought she began to recognise small pockets of trees, of the way some leant one way, some the other. She thought she even began to recognise the way moss clung to any surface that it touched, and so she found herself trying to remember as much as possible, she found herself trying to soak in what ever little detail of her life that she could, if only so that she could have something to say and some way ofexplaining the things she would need to explain.

But perhaps through every moment of their journey onwards, Clarke found that whatever path her life was now on would forever be incomplete lest she face the realisation that leaving any little thing unspoken and unresolved would leave her feeling far too unsatisfied.

But for now?

All she could do was take one small step at a time.

 

* * *

 

It was strange. It was uncertain. It was bizarre and uncomfortable. But most of all?

It was frightening.

And it was frightening because what had one been the Ark, what had one been a small camp named after a former leader was now a sprawling and bustling town, something between spaceport and beaten village.

Clarke sat atop her horse at the tree line that broke down a rolling hill and to a clearing where the Ark lay on the ground. Gates surrounded what she saw had now been named Arkadia. The Ark’s twisted remains still reached up into the sky, the blackened metal from reentry still held the scorch-marks, still spoke of a violent beginning, but what stole Clarke’s attention the most, what commanded her notice was the lights, the buildings, the way the camp had turned into village and home.

Arkadia lay at the base of the rolling clearing, it’s gates remained opened and buildings, some small, some larger than she could have expected scattered out from the clearing. A patchwork of pathways and flattened ground spoke of days and weeks, months and years of use. Camp fires littered the place where people must have gathered outside the walls, where gatherings and society had formed. Lights, many of flame, some of power glowed in the dark of the night, they cast their shadows far, and they illuminated what they could of the lands that sprawled out before her. Guard towers still stood around the perimeter, but perhaps Clarke thought them not to anxious anymore, not so eager for violence. If only because many seemed unmanned, seemed unafraid of the grounders that must have lurked in the shadows.

But perhaps what Clarke found the most jarring were the signs of grounders, of those who had clearly come to accept Skaikru. And Clarke saw a stable in the distance, she could see the telltale sign of horses that had frolicked during the day, and who now slept during the night. She could see the signs of traders, of their carts that had clearly been parked for the night, and she could see signs of grounders moving about behind the walls, the distance between them making them appear ant like, yet their clothes seemed unmistakably different.

And Clarke hadn’t quite known what to think, she hadn’t quite known what to expect, but perhaps now she thought it obvious that Skaikru would have integrated, would have needed to find a way to live with their neighbours.

And it must have been quiet, must have been sudden, must have crept up on her, but a regret seemed to well within her as she continued to look down onto Arkadia, onto what had once been her people. And it was a regret for abandoning them, it was a regret for not being strong enough to lead them into an uncertain future. But perhaps most selfishly, it was a regret that her people had passed her by, had in fact not needed her help, had not needed to be guided, and had been able to thrive when she hadn’t.

“It’s strange,” Jessa said quietly from atop her own horse.

“Yeah,” and Clarke couldn’t blame the girl, not when the tech of the Skaikru, and the wood and leather and beaten metal of the grounders seemed to clash so jarringly together. “It is.”

Clarke looked to her side to see Jessa’s eyes wide as she continued to look down upon Arkadia, as she continued to take in every little movement the inhabitants made in the distance.

“Now what?” Jessa asked.

But memories came forth of when she had last approached her people under the cover of dark, when she had been covered in mud and blood, when she had led Anya to her death.

And Clarke didn’t quite think her people would be so trigger happy now, she didn’t think they would be unfamiliar with grounders approaching at any hour, but Clarke wished not to risk her life, and most of all, she knew she wished not to risk Jessa’s either.

And so, “we’ll wait til daybreak before going down,” Clarke said, and she turned to Jessa to see the girl frown for a moment before accepting her decision.

“Ok.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke sat with her back against a tree, her gaze turned down to Arkadia below her. She didn’t quite know how long she had been awake for, but she knew it long enough that Jessa had long since found sleep, and that those few who had been awake in Arkadia now slept through the night. But Clarke found herself unable to do what every other person did now.

And perhaps it wasn’t uncertainty, not quite at least, and perhaps it wasn’t even fear, but it was something. It was something that seemed to keep her awake, that seemed to not let her mind rest.

And so Clarke resigned herself to the fact that she would go this night with little to no sleep. She sighed, she leant her head back against the tree and she turned her gaze somewhere other than Arkadia and she tried to think of what the sun’s rising would bring.

But through it all she sensed the difference in the air, she sensed the pressure over her shoulder and she knew what that meant, she knew what would come.

She smiled as she felt the presence sit beside her, she smiled as she remembered happier times, and she smiled as she let herself feel the way she had once been before coming down to the Earth.

“Hey Kiddo,” Jake whispered quietly, and Clarke turned from the stars to look at her father who sat beside her, whose face seemed just the way it had always been.

“Hey dad,” Clarke answered.

“How are you, Clarke?” he asked, and she watched as his gaze moved down to Arkadia for a moment before returning back to her.

“I’m ok,” and Clarke wondered just how ok she was. But perhaps it was the best way to answer, if only because she knew herself to not be good, but to not be bad. Just somewhere between the two, somewhere close enough to one to recognise that the other only barely tempered her memories.

“Just ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Just ok,” and Clarke sighed as she tried thinking of how to explain. “I’m not good,” Clarke said as she bit her lip and thought of what to say. “If I was I wouldn’t be where I am right now,” she shrugged. “But I’m not bad,” Clarke said a little more bitterly than she had expected. “Or else I wouldn’t be where I am right now,” and she wondered if she made sense. “If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Jake replied,

“But I’ve just got this feeling,” Clarke continued, and she found herself trying to voice what it was, trying to let herself really say the things she had come to realise she had been keeping secret and locked away.

“And what is that feeling?” Jake asked.

But Clarke paused for she thought it childish, she thought it stupid, pathetic and so inconsequential compared to the things she had done.

She thought her father must have known though, or at least understood somewhat because he remained quiet, he remained steady by her side, and he seemed content for the silence to linger for as long as Clarke needed i to do so.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to,” Clarke said eventually.

“What does?” Jake asked, and his voice came out a little softer.

“Seeing you,” Clarke said, “the others,” and she looked away and into the forests for a moment before her gaze settled on Jessa who remained sleeping under thick furs not far from where Clarke sat.

“I’m happy for that,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer for the rest of your life, Clarke,” and he smiled.

“I know,” and Clarke turned her gaze back down to Arkadia once more.

Jake’s gaze remained on her though, and Clarke knew he wished to push more than he did, she knew he wished to ask her what still bothered and wriggled just beneath the surface.

“I feel incomplete,” Clarke said after a moment, and she looked up into the skies overhead and watched as the few clouds drifted where they pleased.

“And why is that?”

“I needed to run away because I was going to lose myself,” Clarke said, “I was afraid I didn’t deserve anything more than pain and suffering,” and she tried thinking back, she tried embracing her demons. “And realising that I had been capable of the things I had done—” but she paused and waited for her breathing to settle. “It scared me, knowing I had it in me, and maybe that’s why I left, maybe that’s why I hid away from everyone,” and her breathing seemed to steady enough now that she could take in a deep breath without it coming broken and sharp. “And I stayed away to try to learn how to live with myself, I stayed away to learn how to live again,” and Clarke looked back to Jessa for a long moment. “And Jessa, she helped me. She helped show me that other people had their own problems, that other people needed help, that it was selfish to want to find yourself again.”

“You helped her so much, Clarke,” Jake added, and Clarke couldn’t miss the pride she heard in his voice.

“And she helped me,” Clarke answered, and she paused for another moment as she tried to think of what else and what more to say. “So that’s why I’m here,” and she let her hand gesture around them lowly. “I’m here to say sorry, to make amends, to make sure nothing is left unsaid, to tell everyone I’m still alive,” but she trailed off at that, and she found that she knew not what to say.

“But there’s something left,” Jake said. “Something you don’t think you could face?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, and she found herself remembering the tent, she found herself remembering the anger, the confusion, the surprise, the tenderness, the want and the hope. “It’s stupid,” and it was. It seemed so stupid, so childish, so juvenile to her.

“It’s not,” Jake said more quietly than before.

“It is,” Clarke answered.

“Why?” and his voice came out curious, it came out simple.

“Why what?”

“Why do you think it’s stupid?”

“It just is,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to sound much younger than she had been in years.

“What is?” Jake pressed lightly. “Wanting to not feel incomplete? Wanting to not feel lost? Like there’s one last stone left unturned?”

“It felt like more than what it was,” Clarke answered, and she tried not to let herself break, she tried not to let her resolve crumble.

But Jake remained quiet this time, he remained steady and constant, and Clarke knew he waited for her to speak, to break the silence first.

“It happened so fast,” Clarke whispered. “She got under my skin, made me think things could be better when the dust settled,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to grimace, couldn’t help but to shake to the admissions she let slip past her lips. “It seemed like there was going to be more,” and Clarke bit her lip, clenched her jaw and felt something beginning to bubble to the surface. “And then she stabbed me in the back,” and the anger came more suddenly then she had expected, it came more seething, sharpen, fiercer, more ferociously than she could comprehend.

“You felt like you should have seen it coming?” Jake asked. “That maybe she played you? That maybe she used you?”

“I—” but Clarke didn’t quite think that the case. At least not now, not with the actions that had been taken. “I don’t know,” Clarke said, but she did, she did know.

“You do,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to grimace at the way her father seemed to know every little thing to say.

And so Clarke took a deep breath as she tried to put word to thought.

“I felt like I was more important than I was,” and Clarke looked away. “I thought we understood that no matter what, we’d work together to bring down the Mountain, that we had something unspoken, that we agreed on what it was,” and Clarke shook her head. “But I was wrong, and it’s stupid, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is,” Clarke said, and this time she knew tears fell. “It’s stupid because every thing else I’ve done should weigh more heavily on my conscience. But what makes me question everything I’ve done, what makes me want to scream into the night is the fact that I was played, I was used, I was blindsided because I was stupid,” and the truth make Clarke think of herself a little less, it made her think of herself as something far removed from what she had hoped she had become. “I thought we were more then we were,” and she found that the last of her words came out bitter and full of resentment, of anger and hurt and things left unsaid.

But Jake sighed, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and he squeezed a little more tightly as he let his warmth bleed into hers.

“You know what I think, kiddo?” he said, and Clarke couldn’t help but to sniffle and think of herself as nothing more than the child she had once been, when she had been carefree and unburdened.

“What, dad?” Clarke asked, and she knew her voice came just as small as it had once been.

“I think you should stop talking to ghosts,” and he smiled down at her. “And talk to Lexa.”

 

* * *

 

The morning air was ever cool to the touch, the mist that seemed to cling to the lands seemed to bathe Arkadia in the faintest of green glows, and even the sun seemed to shy away from the chill of the air.

But Harper never seemed to mind the cold, and she didn’t because it gave her time to exist without others, to exist without the noise that would soon fill the air.

Or maybe she had merely grown to like the cold and the quiet simply because for the last year she had always taken the morning watch, had always been posted in a guard tower.

She sighed then, brushed a strand of hair behind an ear and she winced at the strain in her shoulder from yesterday’s training session.

“Still sore?” Monroe asked quietly, and Harper grunted out a response.

“You’d think with the Coalition the way it is now that we wouldn’t have to train so much,” Harper said, and it wasn’t that she disliked it, it wasn’t that she resented it, but she just couldn’t understand why the violence had to permeate through every little aspect of grounder culture.

“It’s just the way it is now, Harp,” Monroe said, but from the wince she heard she could tell Monroe carried her own pains.

“Yeah,” Harper replied. “I know,” and she did, and she wasn’t stupid enough to not understand the need to always be ready, to always be prepared. “It just sucks sometimes, Roe.”

“Maybe we’ll ask to get moved to the Mountain for a bit,” Monroe said as she leant on the railing before them both. “Change of pace and everything,” she continued. “Might be good to shake things up a little,” and Harper watched her squint through the morning mist and to where the Mountain sat in the far distance.

“Maybe even Polis,” Harper said. “I wouldn’t mind spending some more time there,” and she remembered the last time they had been, when Raven had needed extra hands transporting tech.

“Yeah,” Monroe agreed. “Maybe we’ll be able to go now that the Commander’s supposed to be back soon,” and Monroe paused in thought. “When’s she supposed to be back?”

“Dunno,” Harper said, and she tried counting back the days. “Probably soon,” and she shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a message today or tomorrow saying she’d be visiting the Mountain or us,” and Harper shrugged, her care for the Commander not so little that she would insult the woman too openly, but not so much that she’d show favour to her when spoken of.

“Yeah,” but Harper heard the annoyance in Monroe’s voice. “I hope it’s the Mountain,” and Harper couldn’t help but to laugh a little. “I don’t want to have to prepare a feast for her like last time.”

“Same,” Harper agreed, but despite the annoyance, having so many newcomers visiting Arkadia had been a welcomed change to what their lives had become. “At least it’ll b—”

“Damn,” Monroe’s voice cut in, awe and surprise clearly evident on her lips. “That’s a beautiful horse.”

Harper’s gaze snapped out into the distance to find two large horses winding their way down the hill and through the clearing.

“Yeah,” she said, eyes trying to make out the riders.

“They’re big,” Monroe said as she raised her rifle and looked through her scope. “Plains Riders?” she asked.

“Red clothes?” Harper asked. “Big horses?”

“Yep,” and Monroe lowered her rifle. “Woman and child,” Monroe continued. “Mother and daughter maybe?”

“I wonder what they want.”


	25. Chapter 25

Clarke took in a deep breath as the morning air seemed to swirl and dance around her. Her lungs filled with the cold and she tried to clear her mind as much as she could. She sat atop her horse as she looked down the rolling land and to Arkadia, and she wondered how it would seem to them, how it would look for her to appear after so long being hidden away. But she thought herself not willing to turn back, not after everything she had survived, not after every day and night she had lived and experienced.

And so Clarke squared her shoulders, she sat upright upon the horse and she grit her teeth as she beat her resolve into something more than the anxious beast she knew it to be.

“Are you ready?” Clarke asked Jessa, and she turned to see the girl worrying her lip, the motion speaking of uncertainty, apprehension, curiosity and eagerness.

“Yes,” Jessa nodded, one hand resting atop her small plaything tucked into her belt, its fabric worn and beaten to the motion.

“Stay close to me,” Clarke said as she turned back to Arkadia, as she peered into the only guard tower that was occupied by two small shadows of people. “Ok?”

“Ok,” Jessa said, and Clarke couldn’t help but to feel the slightest spark of fear as memories of Anya took place somewhere in her mind.

And so Clarke urged her horse forward carefully, one hand clutching the reins tightly, the other hovering close to her bow strapped to the side of her saddle, eyes ever cautious of the remains of the Ark that began to grow out across the lands.

Perhaps it was a new day, perhaps it was the fact that she now approached Arkadia’s opened gates, but Clarke thought each detail she took in seemed clearer, seemed to stand out and sear into her mind with a renewed strength she thought at odds with the trepidation she knew herself to be feeling.

Their horses slowly made their way down the rolling landscape, each little push they passed or each small rock and boulder seemed to mark another milestone in their journey. The grass under hoof was green, too, its shade brilliant, each blade crisp in the morning light. Stick and dirt and the smallest puddles of mud scattered about, even signs of small animals seemed obvious to Clarke.

She turned to Jessa for a moment and she found that the girl continued to look upon Arkadia with wide eyes and wonderment, and Clarke couldn’t blame her for the way she seemed awed for she, herself, felt awed at what she saw.

The passed the first sign of life, of civilisation then, and it was a weathered barn, a beaten building of wood and rope that must have stored tools or equipment or any other thing that would be needed to care for the lands outside of Arkadia’s walls.

And passing that small weathered building must have been a sign of change for the land seemed to grow firmer with each pace their horses took, and as Clarke looked down she saw that the dirt seemed to turn to firm packed pathways that wended and flowed over the lands, that crisscrossed and snaked their way through grass and between rock, each one emanating from a point somewhere between where they were and where Arkadia stood.

Clarke looked ahead then, and she took in the other buildings that spread out before them, some whose pasts seemed more steeped in that of the Earth, others whose life had began drifting through the skies. But Clarke thought it charming in an odd way, she thought it comforting that two cultures could find a way to bleed together, to exist, to live side by side despite such stark differences.

Or maybe she simply hoped that to be the case.

“This is where you lived?” Jessa asked quietly, and Clarke looked to the girl to find her eyes peering up into the peaks of what was once the Ark, where twisted metal still stretched up into the skies, where antennas and bent beams seemed to scream out in silent agony from the impact during their return to the ground.

“Yeah,” Clarke said, and she found that thought seemed to leave her mind blank, seemed to not let her settle on something for long enough to really grasp.

“It’s,” but Jessa trailed off as she tried to find words to describe whatever things she looked upon. “I don’t know,” and the girl smiled just a little bashfully as she shifted in her saddle and cast her gaze down and to the guard towers that seemed to be increasing in size with each pace they continued to take.

“Yeah,” and Clarke couldn’t blame the girl for not quite knowing how to explain what she saw.

But Clarke’s eyes snapped to movement in the distance, and she couldn’t help but to feel her stomach tighten and her fingers trail to her bow as she saw one of the guards raise a weapon and look through the scope. The motion lasted just mere moments before the weapon lowered, and, despite the fact that Clarke knew the person had done so only to better see them, she couldn’t help but to feel unsettled more than she already did.

But as if the lowering of the weapon was a sign of things to come, Clarke found that the feeling of uncertainty and unease faded, and in its place came an odd sense of calm, and it wasn’t sudden nor was it profound, but Clarke thought the sensation at odds with what she knew soon to come.

She took in the way the guards, two women whose faces now seemed known to her, appeared to watch and take in each step their horses took.

And so, after Clarke and Jessa passed scattered rock and boulder, blade of grass and strewn about stick, they found herself coming to a careful halt before the open gates of Arkadia, its walls grand as they reached up into the sky, their metal glinting in the rising sun.

Clarke took a moment to look to Jessa who remained quiet and uncertain now of what to do, her gaze moving from one of the guards still in the tower, to one who began to descend, gaze cautious but friendly in the morning light.

Clarke turned her attention to the guard then, and she couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of regret and guilt as she recognised the way the woman’s hair was pulled back in a single braid that cascaded down her back in a fiery twisted mess. Clarke couldn’t help but to smile just a slight amount as she found her gaze drawn to the dirty red jumper that peaked out from beneath the guard uniform, and she couldn’t help but to feel lost for words, lost for thought.

“We don’t normally get visitors this early,” Monroe said cautiously as she came to a stop a careful distance from them as Jessa’s horse seemed happy to nip and snort quietly at the new presence. “Did you want medical care?” and Monroe looked to Jessa for a moment. “For your daughter or yourself?” and Clarke found her own lips parting to say something, or at least to try to, “Normally we send people to the Mountain though,” Monroe continued. “But if it's urgent we can have our healer here take a look,” and she trailed off as Clarke remained quiet and as Jessa’s uncertainty began to appear more clear.

“I—” but Clarke found that her voice broke, she found that her nerves seemed far too rattled and fearful. “No,” and she shook her head, “we don’t need medical care,” but she couldn’t think of what else to say, for she was sure there was a better way of reintroducing herself to those she had once known, there was a better way of asking for forgiveness, for acceptance, for understanding.

As the last of her words seemed to die in the space between them Clarke was sure she saw uncertainty and caution turn to realisation and suspicion upon Monroe’s face, in the way her eyes narrowed and the way her hand fell to her rifle. But Clarke’s attention was drawn to the other guard then, and she saw the woman ending the short descent from the guard tower, she saw the woman’s gaze drilling into her and Clarke knew she saw the recognition, she knew she saw the realisation and surprise.

And so, “Hey Harper,” and Clarke tried not to let her voice fray too far, she tried not to let her fingers shake too much.

Monroe’s eyes widened then, her jaw slackened and her lips parted, and Harper’s gaze seemed unfocused, seemed unbelieving, unsure of what was in front of them.

But perhaps their momentary shock was enough to break Clarke from her own turmoil and so she dismounted her horse, her feet came to meet the hard packed dirt with a thud and she heard Jessa echo her motions.

“It’s me,” Clarke found herself saying as she came to face Harper and Monroe.

“Clarke?” Monroe’s voice came quiet and breathless.

“It’s me,” and what else was Clarke to say? “It’s me,” she repeated as she let her hand raise in an awkward wave that hung somewhere by her side, her fingers not quite sure how to do more than twitch haplessly in the morning air.

Harper took a step forward then, and Clarke watched as the woman’s gaze moved from her face and then to the horses before settling on Jessa for a long moment.

“Clarke?” and perhaps it would have been funny, perhaps it would have been humorous, and perhaps it would be in time to come, but for now Clarke found each breathless echoing of her name to be full of pain and hurt, surprise and shock and relief and a myriad of other emotions she couldn’t quite grasp.

“I—” but yet again Clarke found her words dying upon her lips, but she tried to think of what to say, she tried to think of how best to begin whatever explanation she thought was owed. “I’m sorry,” and it was simple, it was honest, and it was the truth. “I’m sorry I left,” Clarke whispered, and she watched as Monroe’s eyes seemed to focus, she watched as Harper’s knuckles seemed to lessen their hold around the strap that kept her rifle to her side, and she watched as both woman seemed to accept what it was that stood before them.

“Clarke,” and Monroe’s voice came breathless, came full of wonder, came full of laughter and relief.

Monroe rushed forward then, any semblance of uncertainty gone as the woman crashed into her and wrapped arms around Clarke and squeezed tightly. And perhaps Clarke had expected animosity, perhaps she had expected tears and anger, fury and heartbreak. But she found herself sinking into Monroe’s embrace as much as she could, and she found a relief beginning to break, she found it beginning to take hold, beginning to ferment and grow heady as she found a smile breaking upon her lips, as she felt her heart beat and as she felt the trembling in her fingers.

But before long Monroe pulled away, she took a step back and she took a moment to take in what stood before them once more.

And Clarke tried to imagine what the other woman saw, and she wondered if Monroe saw the girl she had once been, if she recognised the naivety and youth that had once clung to her, and Clarke wondered if both women saw someone who had lived years on the ground, who now wore the flowing reds of the plains, whose clothes were cloth, thick and thin, leather supple and beaten, whose hair was braided back and out of her eyes, whose face carried a scar across the left side of her temple.

Harper’s gaze moved to Jessa then, and Clarke watched as the woman’s gaze took in the girl before snapping back to Clarke, and she knew what must have gone through Harper’s mind, she knew what both women must have been thinking, must have been trying to comprehend.

“Jessa,” and Clarke reached out carefully for Jessa to take a step forward. “This is Harper,” and Clarke looked to Harper to see the woman wave carefully. “And Monroe,” and she sensed Monroe acknowledge the introduction.

“Is she—” but Monroe’s words cut off quickly as she seemed to register the difference in ages between Clarke and Jessa, and so Clarke simply shook her head and smiled for a moment.

“We’re family,” and it was a truth Clarke thought the most fitting for what they had both become. “It’s complicated,” and it was, just a bit, just enough that the conversation should exist somewhere more comfortable than the chill of a quiet morning.

“Where’d you go, Clarke?” Harper asked.

And so Clarke tried thinking of how to explain, how to say and how to answer.

“Anywhere life took me,” and it had been the truth for she hadn’t known where she would end up, she hadn’t known where her life would end. “Until I found the Plains Riders,” and Clarke gestured to the horses and her clothes. “They took me in,” and she thought that explanation enough, and she thought she saw an understanding in Harper’s eyes.

“For years?” Monroe’s voice seemed to come just a little more biting, just a little more full of confusion. “It’s been years, Clarke,” and she watched as Monroe counted back the days and nights. “Five years,” and Monroe’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Almost everyone thinks your dead.”

“I know,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to wince and look away, she couldn’t help but to grit her teeth and try to damper whatever emotions seemed to be returning. “I know,” she shook her head and she waited for long enough that her eyes cleared and that her voice steadied. “I know and I’m sorry,” and she met Monroe’s gaze. “I know,” and Clarke didn’t think making excuses, she didn’t think avoiding whatever confrontations she was to have would help. “I’m not making excuses,” Clarke shook her head as she looked from Monroe to Harper. “I know I’ve got more explaining to do then I can imagine,” and she found a relief settling within her at the fact that her voice came out firm. “But I’m here, now,” and she paused for a moment as she let both women take in what she said.

“I missed you,” Harper said simply, and Clarke saw the woman shrug.

“We missed you,” Monroe added. “A lot of people missed you, Clarke,” and Monroe looked around them for a moment. “We could have helped,” and Clarke heard the hurt in the woman’s voice, she heard the pain.

“I know,” and Clarke didn’t think saying anymore would help, she didn’t think trying to say anything else could help.

And so an awkward silence seemed to settle upon them, and Clarke couldn’t help but to grimace at the way she seemed unsure of how to broach what she wished to, and she couldn’t blame Jessa for scuffing a boot against the ground, nor could she blame Monroe for biting her lip and taking a moment to look upon the two horses that continued to nip and neigh quietly at each other.

“Let’s get you inside,” Harper said and Clarke found herself sending a silent thank you to the woman. “I’m sure you want to meet everyone else,” and perhaps simply ripping off whatever bandaid existed was what Clarke needed.

And so Clarke found herself falling into step behind Harper and Monroe as both women began to move further past the walls of Arkadia, and through it all a silence seemed to hang over them, but Clarke found herself drawn to Jessa who seemed too quiet, who seemed too unsure of things around her.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asked her quietly, and she was sure she sensed Monroe and Harper trying not to listen too closely.

“Yes,” Jessa said, but Clarke watched as the girl kicked at a stick across the ground as she continued leading her horse forward.

“Are you?”

Jessa met her gaze then, and Clarke couldn’t help but to sense an slight discomfort that seemed to exist within the girl’s gaze.

“Yes,” Jessa said once more.

“Hey,” and Clarke paused, she ignored the slightest nip of her hair from her own horse at the sudden stop and she knelt down before Jessa. “We can leave,” and Clarke meant it. “As soon as you want. Right now,” and Clarke made sure her gaze remained steady. “We’re in this together.”

“No,” and Jessa shook her head and looked away for a long moment. “It’s just bad memories,” she said after a pause.

And so Clarke made sure to look into Jessa’s gaze for another moment longer before she found herself nodding, “as soon as you want, Jessa,” she said once more.

They fell into step with Harper and Monroe again, and Clarke found that both women lead them to a large stable of metal and wood where horses lined the walls, each one in their own enclosed stall.

“Our horses are here,” Monroe began as she gestured down the rows of stalls. “We’ve got plenty of space,” she said. “We’ve even got some horses from the Plains,” she continued. “But none really as big as yours.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said as she eyed the nearest horse whose head had turned to eye the newcomers.

“Take whichever stalls you want,” Monroe continued. “We’ll wait for you here.”

Clarke nodded a thank before moving inwards, and it only took them a few short minutes before their horses were stabled, their bags untied and slung over shoulders. And so Clarke came to a stop at the stable’s entrance once more, Jessa closer to her side now, a bag over both their shoulders, and Monroe and Harper quietly unsure of what to do.

“So,” and Monroe looked from Harper than back to Clarke and Jessa. “I’m guessing you want to see Abby?” and the question came out simple, with far less fanfare than Clarke had anticipated, but perhaps being blunt, perhaps being straightforward was the best.

“Is she here?” and for the first time Clarke realised that her mother could have been elsewhere, could have been at the Mountain, at Ton DC, another village or even the capital.

“Yeah,” Monroe said. “She’s here.”

 

* * *

 

Walking through towards what had once been the Ark was strange. More buildings had sprung up behind the walls, their construction an assortment of tech and wood, metal both twisted and blackened, even the people Clarke began to see seemed to exist somewhere between the ground and the sky. Many of the women she passed kept hair longer now, braided and not unfamiliar to her, yet their clothes remained much the same as they had been on the Ark, where woven fibres, and stitched patchwork of cloth clung to bodies, but the bodies that wore those clothes seemed stronger, seemed less like the fragile ones that had been sent to the ground.

And Clarke was sure the contrast in hair, in clothes, in the way people seemed to border between grounder and skaikru was purposeful, was because they longed to hold onto whatever identity they had once had when breathing real air was nothing more than a dream.

She passed a group of guards who ran by, their morning training a routine she had grown to recognise with her time spent amongst the Plains Riders, and she was sure some of those faces were familiar, she was sure some of those she eyed were once known to her, had been people she would have once called friend.

But those faces passed as quickly as they appeared, and in their wake was simply their footprints that seemed to linger upon the dirt beneath her feet.

“We’ve been expanding a lot,” Harper said as they passed another large building, this one, Clarke was sure, was for communal gatherings, for festivities and nights of jovial courtship. “With the help of the Trikru,” she continued. “We’ve been trading a lot, too, providing medical aid, teaching grounders how to use some tech,” and she trailed off for a moment as she waved to a group of workers who sat on the roof of a building under construction. “We’re trying to live as best we can,” Harper said. “Especially now that we’ve had peace for a while,” and Clarke found herself wondering if Harper and Monroe had been involved in the war with Azgeda, if they had almost crossed paths when she had been healing, had been caring for those who had been injured. 

“How is everyone?” Clarke asked, but she glanced down briefly to find Jessa’s gaze a little wider as the girl continued to take in the way tech seemed to breathe through every dwelling they saw as they continued walking further and further through Arkadia to to the remains of the Ark.

“Ok,” Monroe answered, and Clarke looked up to see Monroe worrying her lip. “Jasper had a hard time for years,” and Monroe looked to Harper for a moment.

“Monty, too,” and Clarke didn’t miss the annoyance in Harper’s voice. “Jasper dragged him down a lot,” and Clarke was sure there was more to the story. “But Jasper’s better, and Monty’s…” Harper shrugged, “Monty. He’s good.”

“What about Raven?” Clarke asked, and she side stepped a puddle and couldn’t suppress the faintest smile as Jessa stepped in it and cursed quietly.

“Raven’s good,” Monroe answered. “Her leg hurts. She won’t admit it. Doesn’t even ask for help, but she’s busy, has always been busy,” and she paused as she thought for a second. “I think she uses it to keep her mind off what happened,” and Clarke didn’t miss the way Monroe’s voice tightened at the end.

“I saw Murphy,” Clarke said then, and she heard Harper snort once, she saw Monroe shrug.

“Trust him to be the one to find you wherever it was you went,” and Clarke didn’t think she heard malice in the way Harper’s words seemed to bite. At least not much, anyway. “He comes and goes when he wants,” she continued. “Trades then disappears for months,” and Clarke was sure she still heard animosity in Harper’s voice. “Sometimes he disappears for long enough that we think he got himself killed.”

And perhaps Clarke couldn’t quite understand why she thought it necessary to defend, to protect and speak up for the man, but she thought the person she had met had been too different to the boy she had once known for her to leave things unsaid.

“He seemed different,” and he had. “Not so selfish.”

“Yeah,” Monroe said. “He’s changed,” she shrugged and kicked at a pebble in their way. “I think seeing how hard Raven’s suffered really put things in perspective for him,” and Clarke wondered just how much life she had missed between those she had left behind.

“What about Octavia?” Clarke asked. “Lincoln?” and she couldn’t help but to look around in search of the girl she had known with fire in her eyes, and the man who had been there to temper the flame. “How are th—”

A shadow fell across the ground in front of her then, and Clarke couldn’t help but to come to a halt as a presence made itself known to her. And perhaps she had expected that this, too, would have been a gran spectacle, something to remember, a scene, a rage filled argument or a heartbroken meeting. But to be like this, to be so sudden, so unexpected, was perhaps to be expected.

And so Clarke looked once to Harper and Monroe who had also come to a stop, both their gazes uncertain, she looked once to Jessa who remained close and quiet by her side, one hand clutching her plaything tucked into her belt, the other closed in an uncertain fist and eyebrows furrowed together as she looked up at the man who stood before her.

But Clarke let her eyes raise, she let her breath try to steady, and she tried not to let herself break more than she should as her eyes met a gaze she had left at the gates of Camp Jaha years ago.

“Clarke?” his voice came out quiet and calm, not so believing that Clarke thought it full of relief, not so disbelieving that Clarke thought it broken.

And she wondered what he saw.

She wondered who he saw.

“It’s me, Bellamy.”


	26. Chapter 26

Bellamy’s gaze didn’t waver for seconds, for so long that Clarke thought seconds drifted into minutes. But Bellamy blinked once, twice, a third time more slowly and then she watched as his breath seemed to return, seemed to bring life back into his eyes.

“Clarke?” he whispered again, and this time Clarke was sure his voice came a little more broken than it had been before.

“It’s me,” she said.

And perhaps it was shock, perhaps it was relief, anger, maybe pain, regret, or some other kind of emotion she couldn’t quite place. But whatever it was lasted for just a moment longer before Bellamy laughed.

The sound seemed bitter, seemed unkind, angry even and Clarke thought the smile upon Bellamy’s face not quite meeting the corners of his eyes as he wiped a hand across his face and swept a lock of dark hair back.

But the laugh ended as quickly as it had come and before Clarke could really grasp what to make of the situation she found herself swept up in his arms as he hugged her tightly.

The embrace lasted long moments, but eventually they both broke apart and Clarke looked up at Bellamy to find them moving across her face and taking in everything they must have been seeing.

But she saw his gaze move down to Jessa who had remained quiet and awkwardly beside her, the girl seemingly unsure of her place amongst such old memories, and so Clarke reached for the girl, she let her hand rest atop Jessa’s shoulder and she squeezed as reassuringly as she could.

“Jessa,” Clarke began, and she looked back to Bellamy to see his gaze taking in the girl. “This is Bellamy,” and Clarke felt Jessa raise a hand in a cautious greeting.

“Hey Jessa,” Bellamy said, and Clarke watched as he knelt down in front of the girl and smiled at her, and Clarke wondered just how she would go about explaining the things that had happened in her life, but for now, as those she had once known seemed to greet her with less anger and resentment than she had expected, she found that she was happy to keep those worries at arms length for as long as possible.

Bellamy stood then and Clarke watched as his gaze seemed to move over her face for a moment and she knew the man to be taking in the scar across the side of her forehead, she knew he took a moment to register the braids that wove through her hair, and the way her clothes seemed to hug her body, seemed to flow with the breeze and seemed so very different to the fabrics and plastics that he wore himself.

“You’re alive,” and Clarke didn’t know how to respond to that than simply to nod, to shrug and look to Harper and Monroe who had kept quiet as they took in the reunion before them.

“I am,” Clarke wondered whether whatever angers and betrayals Bellamy must have felt were only tempered for the moment, would one day soon come roaring back into existence.

Bellamy’s mouth opened and Clarke knew he meant to say something more, to speak his mind or to voice his angers and hurts, but his mouth clicked shut and she watched for a moment longer as his eyes closed and as he took in a deep breath.

“You must be tired,” he said eventually. “Let’s get you inside,” and he turned to the remnants of the Ark and began walking.

And perhaps Clarke thought the motion abrupt, the change in demeanour sudden and swift, but she couldn’t say she didn’t ignore it.

“Go,” Monroe said with a shrug. “We still need to keep watch for an hour or so,” and she gestured back to the guard tower in the close distance. “We’ll catch up later,” and she smiled for a moment.

“I promise I’ll explain things,” Clarke said and she tried not to let the quickening of her heart be seen too freely.

And so she turned from Harper and Monroe with a wave and began to fall into step behind Bellamy, Jessa ever present by her side.

 

* * *

 

Lexa had never liked the Mountain, she had always hated what it had done to her people, had always despised the shadow it cast over the lands, and the presence it had always made known to all who had once lived in fear of its power. And even now, as she walked the halls, as she passed warrior after warrior, she couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t shake the discomfort.

But she cast those dreads and worries aside, she steeled her resolve and she let herself forget what had once happened, or as much as she could forget.

A warrior bowed her head in passing then, and Lexa returned the greeting with a brief nod as she continued down a lone hallway, its interior illuminated by torches that hung and burnt in sconces bolted into the walls, each firelight casting a flickering shadow that danced and shone against the the smoothed stone of the Mountain’s walls.

Tapestries and furs, cloth and fabrics covered the walls and floors too, some hung from the ceiling, some draped vast expanses of the Mountain’s walls and Lexa couldn’t help but to think them a foolish attempt at creating a more welcoming home for the many that had taken residence within the depths.

And she thought it foolish for she knew she would never forget what had happened in the Mountain, she knew she could never forget what had been done, and the pain that had been caused. But so too did she know that the Mountain was now used to help, to heal, to provide tech that could help provide for all the clans of the Coalition. And so too did Lexa know that others still feared the Mountain, those that had fought during its siege, who had been brought into a world stalked by its shadow would always fear it.

And so she walked the halls of the Mountain, she forced herself to live within its confines when she visited, if only to show the others that their fears were for nought, that their demons existed only if they allowed them to do so.

But she paused, she came to a stop outside guarded doors, etchings an paintings decorated the metal surface and she took just a second to acknowledge the two guards who stood on either side.

“Heda,” one said quietly as she bowed her head.

“You may take your leave,” Lexa answered with a simple nod of her head as she reached forward and pushed the door open.

Lexa waited for the door to open, for it to swing to a stop and for her eyes to adjust to the slight drop in ambient light, and she waited for only a moment longer before her eyes could glimpse every hidden corner of her quarters, so that she could see that no demon lurked hidden and waiting, and then she stepped forward.

“I am not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary,” Lexa called over her shoulder, and she knew Ryder to have taken place as the sole guard outside her quarters.

And it had always been moments like this, in the quiet, in the solitude of whatever moment Lexa would find herself, that she found memories coming to the forefront of her mind.

And she knew that ignoring them was fruitless, she knew trying to think of something else was pointless, and so Lexa simply cast her gaze around until it came to rest upon a chair that sat in the corner of the room, whose back was pressed against the harshness of the stone walls, and whose solitude seemed the only thing that could understand what Lexa found herself believing.

And so Lexa found herself sitting in the chair, her eyes cast outwards but unseeing as she let her breaths still and her eyes begin to waver to whatever thoughts fought for a voice within and without her tired mind.

And she remembered it all. She remembered the blood that had sprayed from a reaper’s throat, she remembered the the way it had stung in the corner of her eye, she remembered plunging her sword into the chest of a Mountain Man, she remembered feeling the thumping of his blood as it pooled out around her fingers just before she wrenched her blade free.

She remembered the pain, she remembered the anger, she remembered the thrill and the fear and terror.

But perhaps most of all she remembered the way Clarke had looked, she remembered the realisation dawn upon her face, the confusion, the hurt, the anger and the acceptance.

Lexa took in another quiet breath then, and she found that she shook her head in the hopes of casting aside the memories, of trying to forget the past.

But she heard the quiet whisperings in the back of her mind, she heard the careful warnings, the guarded thoughts and the things she had always heard and would always continue to hear.

And she knew what they would say, what they would caution. But she couldn’t be blamed for wishing them to leave her be. If only for a night, if only for a moment where she could forget the pains of her actions.

She leant back into the chair then, and she winced just barely as her head came to bang ever so subtly against the stone wall behind her, but she found that that pain simply brought forth more thoughts and memories of days only just gone by.

But those thoughts she knew to be full of something other than hope, she knew those days to be full of something less than acceptance.

And it was because she was a coward, because she had been too afraid to face Clarke, to ask for forgiveness, to tell her the things she wished to tell her, that she had always hoped she would always have the chance to say.

But she had been a coward since first laying eyes upon the woman. She had been a coward when she had approached her, when she had sent Ryder after her, when she had sent the healer to inspect Jessa’s injury, and she had been a coward when she had come to the Trikru border and had simply let Clarke leave with little more than a wave and a lonely echo of something that had never existed.

But even all those things that now seemed to have taken hold of her thoughts seemed disjointed, seemed uncertain, seemed to have come to her with nothing more than a will to exist without worry or care.

And the realisation that came next made Lexa smile and broken thing that seemed to twist the corners of her lips, that seemed to stretch across her face with an unfamiliarity that bordered on pain, that bordered on agony and wretched hurt.

And it brought pain to her heart to realise that she could live with the actions she had taken.

It brought pain to her chest to realise she could live with the knowledge that Clarke had found a people after the things she had been forced to do.

It brought a shaking to her fingers to realise that she could live with the knowledge that Clarke had survived, that she had become something more than the burning ashes of a decision forced upon her.

It brought a tear to the corners of her eyes to realise that she would suffer and carry the weight of a lonely guilt to know that Clarke would never forgive her, would never seek to extend a hand, to welcome what had once been a possibility ever again.

And so Lexa’s fingers clenched into a fist so tight that her nails drew blood as she laughed and choked on a pathetic breath as she realised she would accept whatever pains she now felt, all with the knowledge that Clarke had been bent, had been shattered, had mended and fought to live through her demons, that the girl who had fallen from the sky had turned into a woman tempered by pain and anger, by fighting for every breath she now took.

But Lexa could live with that.

And she could for she now knew that Clarke lived, that Clarke breathed the air, that the woman had been tempered into something stronger than she could have ever expected.

And so, as Lexa let her shoulders shake, and as she let her agony take hold she found herself believing that something as weak as love and as strong as hate had been the only thing to keep her own demons at bay.

For how could she not when she felt warm hands take hold of her face?

How could she not when she finger trembling fingers brush away the tears?

How could she not when she opened her eyes?

And how could she now when all she saw was a sadness in the eyes of a woman she had once loved more than she could imagine?

“Why do you cry, Lexa?”

And perhaps for yet another night Lexa wished she had never felt as weak as she did in moments like this.

And so Lexa smiled a sad and pathetic smile as she leant into the presence before her.

“Because I am weak, Costia.”

 

* * *

 

Walking the halls of Arkadia was an odd thing, each step Clarke took seemingly echoing out around her with little care for the deafening beating of her heart. Bellamy seemed to be walking before them with little care for the noise though, and Clarke wondered if the sounds of feet stepping against metal had always been so loud, had always been so piercing.

She glanced down to Jessa to find that the girl continued to take in all that existed around them, the girl’s eyes ever wide, her lips parted ever so slightly as she gazed upon artificial light and piece of tech that buzzed and whirred as if it breathed air with its own lungs.

But Clarke’s gaze moved back to Bellamy to find his shoulders seemed tense, that his posture seemed unsure and unsteady with each step he took, and not for the first time Clarke tried to think of something to say that would bridge whatever silence had settled around them.

“Bellamy,” she let her voice carry only far enough for him to hear, and she knew he did from the way his steps faltered for just a moment.

But stop he did not, and so Clarke found a glare coming to spread across her face as she chewed on her lip for a moment longer before reaching out and gripping the man’s elbow and spinning him around to face them.

“What?” and gone was the laughter and disbelief and whatever relief she had first seen on his face.

And Clarke should have known whatever warm welcome she was to have would have to wait.

“I—”

A man walked past them, his gaze only once meeting hers before he nodding a greeting and continued on his way, his steps easy and simple and contrasting too painfully to the tension Clarke now felt pulling at her mind.

“What?” Bellamy said once more, and she couldn’t help but to flinch back just a little at the way his voice seemed too tired. “Did you think I’d be happy to see you, Clarke?” he said.

And Clarke hadn’t quite thought that, she hadn’t quite known what to think.

“I don’t know,” and she thought answering with a truth was all she could do.

“We thought you died,” and Bellamy’s gaze seemed to slacken. “We thought you wandered off into the forest to kill yourself,” and she saw his eyes begin to waver. “We searched. We looked. For days, for weeks,” and she watched as Bellamy made to turn, made to begin to walk further and further into the depths of Arkadia only to stop himself and cross his arms over his chest. “Everyone,” and Bellamy gestured around them. “Everyone thought you died.”

“I know,” and Clarke wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I don’t think you do,” and Bellamy laughed bitterly. “Seeing you here, right now?” and he shrugged. “I’m happy you aren’t dead, I’m happy you found a place,” but he paused. “And maybe I’m in shock, maybe I should have something more profound to say, but I don’t,” and he looked away for a moment. “I don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to think.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy you’re alive, Clarke,” Bellamy continued. “I am,” but Clarke knew there was more to come. And from the way Bellamy’s gaze seemed to turn inwards, seemed to become more guarded than she had ever seen she knew things were far from ok, were far from mended. “Do you know who they blamed?” he asked after another long moment. “Do you know who they yelled at? Who they screamed at? Who they accused?”

And Clarke knew, she knew who had been the last person she had spoken to at the gates of Camp Jaha, who had let her go, who had asked her to stay, to come inside.

“Everyone blamed me,” Bellamy said. “Everyone. Monroe. Harper, O, Lincoln,” and he paused. “Everyone,” and she knew who must have blamed him the most. “But you know what hurt the most?” and he paused for only long enough that she was sure he was aware she knew there was more to come. “I blamed myself,” and he grit his teeth. “When we gave up, when we stopped searching I blamed myself for letting you go, I blamed myself because I thought I let you kill yourself,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to look away from the pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” and she knew her apologies would continue, would not stop for a long time.

“You weren’t alone, Clarke,” Bellamy said. “You were never alone,” and she saw him shake his head. “When we first landed on the ground you weren’t alone. When things started to go wrong you weren’t alone,” and he paused and tried to settle his breathing. “In the Mountain you weren’t alone. I was there. Monty was there,” and he sighed. “I pulled that lever with you,” and she knew she heard the pain and resentment in his voice. “We were in it,” and she met his gaze once more. “Together,” and he paused. “But then you left. You left me, you left everyone who had counted on you.”

And it saddened Clarke to realise that the words Bellamy said didn’t seem so surprising, didn’t seem so shocking. But perhaps what was sad was that she knew her actions were selfish, at least a little. But she wouldn’t make excuses, she couldn’t, not when she had come so far.

“I can’t change what I did,” Clarke said, and she found that her voice wavered just a little. “I won’t pretend to know what you went through, what you’re going through,” and she knew her voice broke just a little. “But I did what I did for me,” and Clarke blinked once. “I did it because I needed to. And I know it was selfish, I knew other people needed me,” and it surprised Clarke to find that she felt Jessa take her hand in a tight grasp. “So I won’t pretend to make excuses for the actions I did. I won’t try to make excuses for leaving, because I did it for me. I needed to do it or it would have broken me more than I already was,” and she shook her head to try to clear the fog of memories threatening to break into her vision.

Bellamy didn’t respond for long moments then, and Clarke watched as he let her words sink in, as he thought over the things she had said. She looked down to Jessa, too, and she couldn’t help but to smile just a little as she saw the frown across the girl’s face, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed tightly as she glared just a little at Bellamy.

But Bellamy’s voice pulled her back to him.

“I just wish you had stayed,” he said simply.

“I know,” and perhaps being simple, being truthful was the best thing they could both do now.

“Yeah,” and he shrugged as his gaze followed the scar across her forehead. “We have a lot of catching up to do,” he said and Clarke knew he had shut whatever grievances he had behind a door to be opened at a later date, at a later time, when things had settled.

And so they fell into step once more, but this time Bellamy seemed to walk just slow enough that Clarke could stand by his side as they continued to wind their way through the halls of the Ark, and she knew Bellamy had already guessed who she wished to see the most from the way he didn’t quite ask any more questions and from the way she was sure he bit back anything more he wished to say lest he disturb whatever conversations were soon to come.

They came to a stop outside what had once been the Ark’s med-bay, and what had now become a small hospital, and from the window recessed into the door Clarke could see a small number of nurses moving about, some in quiet conversation with each other, others talking to patients in beds, some with slung arms, cast limbs, others with bruises, and some with illnesses not visible.

Bellamy took a step aside as he gestured for them to enter.

“She’ll be in there, in her office to the right,” he said as he came to lean against the metal plating of the Ark’s walls, “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready, there’ll be other people wanting to meet you.”

And so Clarke smiled at him for a moment before turning to the doors that now slid open with a quiet whirring, and as she stepped forward she found herself squeezing Jessa’s hand, the motion second nature and unthought as she found her breath quickening once more.

“This is Skaikru’s healer’s place,” Clarke said quietly to Jessa, and she followed the girl’s gaze to the monitors that flickered in the morning light, that showed an array of information.

“It’s strange,” Jessa said, and Clarke couldn’t blame the girl for thinking so. “Your mother is a healer, too?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said with a smile. “She’s a healer, just like me,” and Clarke’s gaze met that of a nurse who looked up from a small tablet in her hands.

“Are you hurt?” the woman asked.

“No,” Clarke said as she looked around for a moment. “Is Abby here?” and with that Clarke felt the nervousness return, she felt the uncertainty beginning to take hold.

The woman paused for a moment as she took in them both, “yeah, she’s in her office,” and she gestured to the right, to the other end of the med-bay.

“Thank you,” Clarke said.

And it was anxiousness, it was uncertainty that now took a hold of Clarke. And she had thought that this moment would be momentous, would be full of wonder, full of a brilliance and a cacophony of sound and emotion, but what it really was, what it seemed to be was quiet. It was subtle, and it was still.

Each step Clarke took seemed to bring with it a deafening of noise and a stilling of motion, each step she took seemed to make her breath come out more shallow, less full and sure. Even the air around her seemed to silence, seemed to stop breathing against her flesh.

But through it all Clarke felt Jessa’s hand squeezing hers as much as she squeezed the girl’s hand, and perhaps that was what she needed the most, perhaps having someone there to ground her, to keep her steady and to tell her that she was not alone was all she needed.

And so Clarke took one last deep breath as she came to a stop outside the closed doors of an office she had known well as a child, whose interior she could remember clearly.

She looked down just once more to Jessa who met her gaze with a slow nod of understanding and a smile, and then Clarke turned back to the door and she let her knuckles knock against it.


	27. Chapter 27

“Because I am weak, Costia,” Lexa said, and she thought herself more tired than she had felt in days and nights.

“I do not believe that,” Costia said, and Lexa couldn’t help but to look away, she couldn’t help but to try not to let herself break more than she already had.

“How can you not?” Lexa said, and she knew her voice came out uncertain and far more weary than it should have. And Lexa was sure what she felt was weakness, for she thought herself pathetic, lost, as if she were a leaf that seemed to drift with no purpose, no aim in life, not when all she had done had seemingly come to a grinding halt now that her days were spent travelling the lands with only the goal of seeing another day, but with no spark, no light, no flame that had once given her direction.

Costia’s hand pulled against her cheek a little more firmly as she turned Lexa’s face towards her more fully, and Lexa found herself trying to look somewhere other than at the face she had once known too fiercely.

“Why do you believe such things?” Costia asked, and her voice came out quiet and careful, it seemed to lilt just barely when whispered word met warm breath and Lexa felt herself drawn to a memory, to a curse and a longing and an agony.

“Because,” and perhaps her reply came petulant and defiant.

“Because?”

Lexa’s mind turned back the days, the nights, and she remembered Nia’s cold fingers against her cheek, she remembered the woman’s icy breath, the way her eyes seemed furious and filled with anger, distain and pity.

“You know why,” Lexa said, and she knew Costia must know, she knew she must understand.

“I would like you to tell me, Lexa,” Costia countered.

Lexa couldn’t quite contain the eye roll that came next, nor could she hold back the barest smile and the twinge of sadness that followed as Costia glared and pushed her cheek a little more firmly.

And maybe embracing the past was something she had needed to do for eons, perhaps facing the things she had found herself unwilling to face was what she needed to do. And maybe she was sentimental or at a crossroad of sorts, where her future seemed as uncertain as her regrets had seemingly been fierce.

But perhaps she also found herself thinking of Nia, of the woman who she had seen, the ghost, the demon and the spirit that had snarled, belittled, insulted and left nothing but scorn in her wake.

And so, “I have served our people for as long as I can remember,” Lexa began quietly, and she found that her eyes looked outwards, looked to the empty walls of stone, to the still made bed of cold furs and cloth, and to the flickering of fires and lights born of tech and of nature. “As a nightblood under Anya’s tutelage, under the protection of Gustus, with you by my side,” and she paused as she forced herself to look to Costia, to the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, to the way her lips quirked up just barely. “And when I became Heda I served our people, I fought for them. For you, for Anya. Gustus,” and Costia’s smile saddened and it seemed kind, sincere, regretful and wistful. “And when I lost you I thought myself broken,” Lexa continued. “But I continued to serve our people as I had always done,” and she found that her head shook slowly, each motion measured and careful. “And when I lost Anya I thought myself a fool to have ever hoped that death would spare her,” and perhaps speaking the truth to a ghost and a demon would do her good. “And then Gustus,” but she paused for a moment as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill with a renewed sense of want. “But that is what it means to be Heda.”

Costia’s hand came up to wipe away what little tears Lexa let spill, and she found that she leant into a touch for which she had longed to feel for years.

“But now?” Costia asked, and her voice seemed to echo out around them quietly, carefully, too calmly for the furiousness of the beat of Lexa’s heart.

“I do not know what it means to be Heda,” and perhaps it was a half truth, if only because Lexa would always be willing to sacrifice herself for her people, she knew that death would come for her not at the end of a life lived to its fullest, where old age, wrinkles and greyed hair would greet her as she woke, but instead it would come at the end of a spear through her heart, a knife slipped between ribs, a sword opening her stomach or an arrow piercing her throat. “Not like I once knew,” and she took in a breath too steady for the thoughts in her head, too uneven for the realisations she had come to know. “How am I to live with regret? How am I to live with the consequences of my actions when I can no longer face them at night? When I sleep, when I dream of things I should not dream of? What am I to do when I fear an answer that I should not deserve to hear, and that I do not deserve to seek?” and perhaps Lexa knew not if she spoke words that made sense. But for all she knew, doing what she did now was the only thing her tired mind could do to try to make sense of the fragments that had long since settled.

Costia’s face softened then, and Lexa thought the woman’s expression somewhere between pity and sadness, understanding and some other emotion she thought too unfamiliar.

“Do you remember when you would meet me in the trees?”

“I do,” and, though Lexa knew not quite how the question related to the words she had spoken, she found that she didn’t mind Costia’s wanderings, if only because she had missed the timbre of the woman’s voice, she had missed the way her lips had once felt pressed against flushed skin. And maybe she had simply longed for something that once more gave her reason to fight for every breath she took.

And perhaps Lexa found that thought selfish.

“Do you remember climbing out the windows of Polis tower? Of scaling the walls, of sneaking from shadow to shadow?”

“I do.”

“And do you remember Anya’s beatings? Anya’s insistence to forget, to let die what was becoming of us?”

“I do, Costia.”

“Do you remember the other natblida? Your brothers and sisters that lay dead at your feet? Whose blood wet your fingers? Whose death soaked into your pores? Whose cries of pain, of anger and hurt and acceptance still echo out through your mind when you least expect?”

“I do.”

“And what did you do in the aftermath of the life that you had taken, and the lives that had been lost?” Costia asked. “Did you cower? Did you flee? Did you shy from your duty and from a battle that only you could wage?”

“I did not,” Lexa said, and she thought she knew what Costia was to say next. And yet, Lexa didn’t quite think she deserved whatever it was she was sure she did not deserve. “I can not,” Lexa said, and she found that her head shook ever so slightly.

“You can not what?” Costia’s voice came a little more softly then.

And Lexa took a moment to think over Costia’s words, she took a moment to think of the times she had lived when pains and angers had threatened to break her, when anguishes and acceptances of things not in her control had taken her life down a path and a stream she had never and could never quite anticipate.

But as Lexa continued to think of the loss of life, as she continued to think of the years since the Mountain’s fall, and as she let herself live in whatever memories seemed to take hold, she found that her thoughts never strayed too far from the falling of the stars. She found that her thoughts never strayed too far from the ferocity and stubbornness of a wild gaze.

And it was a truth that she had perhaps known for years, for Lexa wasn’t blind, nor was she so foolish as to not recognise the things she had come to feel, whether they be regrets or hopes, anguishes and fears.

Costia uttered her name gently then, and Lexa wasn’t sure whether the other woman did so to remind her of the things left unsaid, or whether to simple tell her that she was in the company of maybe the only person she could share such thoughts with.

“You do not need to speak your thoughts to me, Lexa,” Costia said then, but perhaps Lexa thought that speaking, that giving voice to her thoughts was something she should try, if only so that she would lessen the guilt.

“At the Mountain,” she began, and she looked into the darkest corner of her quarters, where the barest hint of a crack long since settled had seen fit to find home within the walls. “When I led my warriors up the side of the Mountain to those that attacked us from above with their tech,” and she blinked as she remembered the words that had been spoken. “I intended to kill all that stood in my way. I intended to return to the Mountain’s mouth, where she waited for me,” and it hurt to let herself remember the guilt and the pain. “I intended for us to storm the Mountain, to kill all those that stood before us,” and perhaps Lexa couldn’t be blamed for seeking Costia’s gaze again. “I spoke truthfully when I asked Clarke to come to Polis with me. I had hoped, however foolishly, that she would agree, that she would be willing to accept whatever hand I was to hold out to her,” Lexa couldn’t quite suppress the memory of the quiet moment they had shared, when Clarke’s hand had found a purchase against her hip, when their lips had met, when their breath had existed within the same space. “But when I was told of the weapon the Mountain would use if the doors were to fall, when I was told of their capabilities, of how many of my warriors would fall as they streamed into the Mountain depths, it gave me pause, it made me think,” and Lexa cursed the words she had been told, of the Mountain Man who had said, should the Mountain’s gates be opened, that a piece of tech would spit fire and metal so ferociously outwards that it would slay scores and scores and scores of her warriors. She remembered being told that those who were held prisoner within the Mountain, who were caged, who had been chained for years, would be executed before any of her warriors were able to reach them.

“You did what you thought right for your people,” Costia whispered quietly.

And she had, in the moment, in that split second when she had accepted the deal.

“I did,” Lexa said quietly.

And she had accepted the deal for she knew how things were to play out, she knew that if she was to storm the Mountain that all those trapped within its depths would be executed, she knew that countless numbers of her warriors would die before even stepping foot within its walls. And perhaps she had accepted the deal because she was weak. She was weak for some part of her longed to ensure that Anya’s death had not been pointless, that her mentor had not escaped the Mountain, had sought to bring word of the horrors that had occurred, only for all those left behind to be killed.

And perhaps Lexa felt guilt, too.

And it was a guilt for the things she had known Clarke capable of, it was a guilt for the things she knew the girl, the woman, the warrior and the leader would be able to do.

And Lexa felt guilt for she knew Clarke would do anything for her people. She felt guilt for Clarke had burnt 300 of her warriors alive for her people. She remembered how Clarke had freed Anya from the Mountain. For her people. She felt guilt for Clarke had ensured that they would meet, that her voice would be heard. For her people. Lexa felt guilt gnaw at her stomach as she remembered the way Clarke had helped bring Lincoln back from death. For her people. She remembered Clarke risking her life to ensure she did not become yet another feast for the Pauna. For her people. She remembered Clarke offering herself in Finn’s place, she remembered the pleading, the begging, the desperation in the girl’s eyes when she had asked to be allowed to say goodbye to a boy she had cared so deeply about. And when Lexa had realised Clarke had spared him a painful death, when she realised Clarke had been willing to sacrifice her own heart for his, she knew Clarke had been willing to do anything for her people.

And that realisation had only grown stronger through each short moment they had shared, from quiet glances during meetings to heated arguments late at night and to the sky fire that had laid waste to Ton DC.

And so, when Lexa had been offered the choice to walk away, to take all those she had come to free, she had accepted. And she accepted for she knew that leaving Clarke behind would ensure that the Mountain would fall without any more of her people dying. And she knew.

Because she knew Clarke would do anything.

For _her_ people.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s knuckles knocked against the metal of the door, each quiet thump seemingly echoing out around her with little care for the beating of her heart that seemed too loud in her ears.

Jessa’s hand squeezed hers once more, and Clarke winced just a little at the realisation that she must have been crushing the girl’s fingers in her own grasp, in her own anxiousness, but Jessa seemed not to mind, not much anyway.

Clarke turned her attention back to the door as she heard steps from behind it. And it seemed to last only a few short seconds, but to Clarke it felt a far longer. Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the nurses and the other people who moved about the med bay seemed to fade into the background, her vision seemed to blur at the edges and she was sure that her mouth dried, that her fingers twitched and trembled, and that her lips quivered ever so slightly to the anticipation and anxiety that took hold of her.

She heard the whirring of the door first, the small motors that slid it back and forth quick to spring to action, she heard the scraping of metal against metal, and she was sure she even sensed Jessa become cognisant of the apprehension in the air.

And Clarke wasn’t so sure what to expect, she hadn’t really quite put much thought into what she would find. And perhaps she should have expected her mother to seem older, to seem weary, vastly different to what she remembered. And perhaps she should have expected none of those things, if only because Monroe and Harper had seemed just as they had once seemed, even Bellamy, who must have still been waiting somewhere outside, had seemed just as she remembered. But the simply fact of the matter was that Clarke hadn’t quite known what to expect.

The door swung open with a whirring rasp, each sound seemed to sting and cut into her mind. A shadow fell across her tent as a body came to stand before a warm light in the corner of the office where papers and charts littered a desk, a screen flickered and cast its lifeless neighbours in a blue glow. Even a cup, its lip cracked and chipped seemed to be discarded somewhere within the messiness of the office interior. There was a frameless picture, too, a hologram, something that just barely clung to life as the image flickered with each passing flow of electricity that gave it life.

And Clarke couldn’t quite let herself look upon the image for long because the faces that smiled back to her seemed to bring forth memories of happier times, of simpler times, of times that weren’t so full of fear and anger, hurt and lo—

“Clarke?”

The voice cut into her mind, it left in its wake a searing pain that brought years of guilt to the surface, that brought nights of agony to every little fibre of her body.

“Clarke?”

The voice seemed too hoarse, too weary and broken in comparison to the memories, but Clarke recognised it all the same.

And so she blinked through the pain in her vision as she let her gaze focus on her mother who stood before her.

Abby’s hair was held back out of her eyes just as she had done so for year, but slight grey streaks seemed to break through the flashes of brown and lighter auburn. Wrinkles more pronounced seemed to crease the corners of her eyes, they seemed to etch their way through her face, and they seemed to speak of years of worry, of sleepless nights, of agonies and anguishes long since held close to the heart.

Shadows seemed to exist under Abby’s eyes, too, each smear too comfortable, too settled for Clarke to think of as anything other than a frequent companion that her mother had lived with for far too long.

“Clarke?” Abby’s voice came disbelieving and full of fear, full of something Clarke could barely grasp.

But she saw Abby’s eyes blink back the shine, she saw her mother raise a hand and wipe furiously at her face to clear whatever vision she must have thought herself experiencing.

“It’s me,” Clarke whispered, and she knew her voice came a little more broken than she had wished.

And, as the very first syllable of her words broke past her lips, Clarke saw her mother break. Abby’s lips quivered, her face seemed to contort in pain, tears broke through whatever facade she had been trying to mask, to erect, to hold in place lest she wake from whatever dream she must have thought herself dreaming.

Abby’s hands came to her face as she fell to her knees with a choked gasp, something that bordered on betrayal and relief, her knees hit the ground with a thud that made Clarke wince, and she found herself unable to think of what to do, of what she could say as she watched as her mother’s anguish seemed to live with little care for all others that were present.

Abby’s sobs began to echo out through the med bay, and Clarke couldn’t help but to turn to find a number of people looking their way. Many she didn’t recognise at all, some she thought she had seen once in a life far removed, but she knew she recognised one man in particular, whose olive complexion and worried eyes seemed to waver upon her face for just a moment before recognition dawned.

“Clarke?” Jackson said, his eyes widening and his lips turning slack.

It only lasted another second before his gaze moved to Abby who remained on her knees, legs crumpled under her as she wept into her hands, but Clarke saw a switch seemingly turn on in Jackson’s eyes because she watched as he passed another nurse the tablet in his hands before taking a few short strides to her before coming to kneel beside Abby.

Clarke watched as Jackson’s hands came to rest upon the woman’s shoulders as he leant forward and whispered quietly into her ear.

Whatever small conversation was shared between them was over quickly, and Jackson helped pull Abby to her feet with a smile to Clarke, uncertainty and confusion still clearly evident on his face.

And things happened quickly, yet Clarke couldn’t quite shake the feeling that time had slowed down, but Jackson ushered Abby back into her office, one hand beckoning Clarke forward, too, and as Clarke let the door slide shut behind her and Jessa she watched as Jackson helped Abby into an office chair before turning to face her.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, and Clarke could see the questions in his eyes, she could see the uncertainty and the confusion, too.

But Clarke nodded mutely, mouthed a quiet thank you and then turned back to her mother as she waited for Jackson’s presence to leave.

And so, as quickly as Jackson had intervened, silence returned. Abby sat in her office chair, her eyes wide as she continued to stare at Clarke, but the older woman’s stillness was short lived.

Abby stood quickly, her mouth opened and closed for a few short moments and then she crossed the distance and threw her arms around Clarke.

Clarke had barely a moment to brace for impact before she felt herself embraced in Abby’s arms, and through it all Clarke found that her own arms began to shake, and that her own breath came out as raggedly as Abby’s did.

But Clarke sensed the change, she sensed the recognition and realisation dawn upon Abby, because Clarke felt her Abby’s arms stiffen for just a moment before she was released. Abby took a step back then, and Clarke watched as her gaze moved from her and then down to Jessa who stood awkwardly by her side, and as Clarke looked down to Jessa she saw the girl’s hand clutching her small play thing tucked into her belt, her eyes guarded, lip held between teeth cautiously, and a errant strand of hair stuck to her cheek.

Clarke looked back to Abby, and she saw the thoughts clearly upon Abby’s face as the woman began to realise just what Jessa must mean. Abby’s gaze moved from Clarke and then Jessa for a moment, and Clarke was sure her mother gauged how old Jessa must have been, Clarke was sure she even tried to see any resemblances that could have existed between them both.

But Clarke saw the smile that began to spread across Abby’s still quivering lips, she saw the spark of something a little more full of life that seemed to ignite whatever light that had once shone in the older woman’s eyes.

Abby came to her knees carefully then, this time the motion more purposeful as she came to kneel before Jessa, who took a cautious step closer to Clarke’s side, and perhaps Clarke couldn’t blame the girl for seemingly being unsure of what to do, of how to respond to such an unfamiliar and strange occurrence. But Clarke thought whatever now happened as important, and so she let her hand fall to Jessa’s shoulder, and she squeezed as reassuringly as she could as she continued to let the quiet cling to the spaces that surrounded the three of them.

“Hi,” Abby said quietly, and Clarke didn’t quite blame her for having said what she did, for Clarke knew in such a situation she would have little more to say herself.

“Hi,” Jessa repeated, and her voice came out careful and cautious.

“My name’s Abby,” and Clarke looked down to see Jessa look from Abby and then to her before nodding to herself for a moment.

“Jessa,” the girl said with a nod.

And as Clarke continued to watch her mother and Jessa, she found that a tear had found a place against her cheek, that her vision seemed just a little wetter than it had been moments ago.

But Clarke saw Abby’s lips part yet again, the older woman trying to find a voice to whatever question existed on the tip of her tongue, but Clarke could guess yet again what that question would be and so she swallowed past whatever lump had formed in her throat.

“We’re family,” Clarke said, her voice cutting a little too loudly in the silence around them, but Abby looked up to her, her eyes searching and cautious for a moment longer. “It’s complicated,” Clarke finished with a shrug that seemed as awkward as it could be.

“Family,” Abby echoed, and Clarke watched as Abby turned back to Jessa.

And Abby paused for only a moment longer to consider something, to ponder and to sift through whatever things she needed to do before speaking once more. And so, as tears still clung to Abby’s eyes, as her breath seemed to come out just barely controlled, and as her lips quivered to whatever emotions had taken hold, Abby’s voice reached out to Jessa with a love Clarke had found she missed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jessa.”


	28. Chapter 28

Abby sat in her office chair, her fingers clenched tightly around the armrests as she let her breathing settle and as she tried to wrestle her emotions under control.

Clarke and Jessa sat in their own chairs, too, and as Clarke looked around the office she couldn’t help but wonder if anger and hurt would come after the shock and surprise wore off.

But Abby took in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and she tucked a strand of frayed hair behind an ear as she let her breathing settle into something more controlled before she opened her eyes again.

“Clarke,” and Abby’s voice came out quiet and careful, but Clarke was sure she could hear the pain and the heartbreak in her mother’s voice still.

Clarke thought Abby must have tried thinking of how to ask all the questions that she was sure filled her mother’s thoughts, she was sure Abby must have been trying to think of how to break the ice, to break the silence that now settled around all of them.

And so Clarke looked away for a moment, she let her gaze settle upon a stack of papers, some edges wrinkled and torn, all filled with hastily scribbled writing of things, of thoughts, perhaps measurements and notes or perhaps something else entirely.

“Were you safe?” Abby’s question broke the silence, and it drew Clarke’s attention back to her mother whose gaze seemed to settle upon the scar that adorned the left side of her forehead, whose edges were still slightly raised, whose wound had just barely fought off infection and the agony of pains Clarke knew would always exist within her.

“Yes,” Clarke answered, but her answer was a half truth, and she knew her mother knew from the narrowing of her gaze. “As safe as I could be living on the ground,” Clarke added.

“What happened?” Abby asked.

And so Clarke took in a deep breath as she let her memories come to the forefront of her mind, as she let them take hold and bring her back to times long since gone.

“I spent a lot of time lost,” Clarke began, and she turned to Jessa to see the girl eyeing the flashing of a screen, and the flickering of the lights overhead before the girl met her gaze with a slight smile. “We both did,” and Clarke looked to Abby to find her mother’s gaze moving between them both.

“And then?” Abby asked, and her voice remained as quiet as ever.

“We found each other,” Clarke answered, and she found herself smiling as she held Jessa’s gaze for a moment. “And then we were found by Plains Riders, they took us in, they realised we needed help, they gave us a place, somewhere to call home.”

And Abby paused for a moment as her eyes took in the red of the clothes she wore, of the way they flowed freely in places, and how they seemed to hug hug and conform to her body in an comforting embrace.

But Clarke thought from the way Abby’s eyes never held still for too long, from the way her mother’s lips parted just a little as if word tried to escape, that she should explain, should try to give reason to her insanity.

“The Mountain broke me,” Clarke continued, and she blinked back a pain she knew would always hide somewhere just under the surface.

And she wondered what her mother saw, she wondered what her mother thought. She wondered what the others must think of her, what Bellamy must think, must feel.

But perhaps what gave her pause, what made her second guess, reconsider, was that she wondered what Jessa thought, what the girl saw, what she thought of the woman she had become.

“I needed time to heal,” Clarke said, and she recalled her demons, she imagined them standing beside her, quiet and careful in their company, and she found that she hoped that whatever was to come would be worth the pain she had lived with for years.

“You were gone for years,” Abby said, and Clarke didn’t hear malice in her mothers words, nor did she hear anger, blame, resentment. But she knew she heard a pain, a despair and a hurt, something she knew would take years to fix.

“I know,” Clarke said. “I know,” and she shook her head, let her braids fall across her face ever so slightly.

And perhaps Clarke thought explaining her life, of what it had turned into was better than trying to make amends, trying to make excuses, to shift the blame.

And so, “I have friends,” Clarke said, and she looked to Jessa to find the girl’s gaze had settled upon her mother. “Tenebediah, she took us in, taught us how to live again,” and Clarke smiled as she thought of the woman with wild hair, dreadlocked and fierce, whose tattoos always made it seem as they her lips were twisted into a smirk, into a smile and a grimace that graced down her chin. “Jorda,” and Clarke nudged Jessa’s foot with her own. “He helps teach Jessa, makes sure she won’t skip out on her lessons,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to laugh just a little at the way Jessa’s eyes roll with a subtlety she knows is made in jest.

But Clarke’s voice trailed off slightly as she found that she knew not how to explain her involvement in the war against Azgeda, in how she was sure she had spied people from Skaikru in the briefest moments, how she was sure she could have reached out years earlier if she had wished to do so.

And perhaps as the silence began to linger for a moment longer, Clarke found that she listened to the beating of her heart, to the way her breathing seemed to fill her ears, and to the way every little noise seemed to cascade over every little surface that filled her mother’s office.

“I missed you,” and Clarke’s gaze snapped back to her mother’s, she watched as Abby took a moment to once more look to Jessa before back to her. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” and Abby nodded to herself, and Clarke thought the motion something desperate, something that tried to keep whatever emotions from breaking free. “Will you stay?” Abby asked after a moment, and Clarke couldn’t help but to hear the desperation in her mother’s words, then, but she couldn’t blame her, could never, should and would never blame her. “Can you stay?” but Clarke thought her mother knew the answer already from the way her eyes seemed to move over her clothes once more, to the knife strapped to her body, to the scars that littered her fingers, small slivers of white that spoke of years of handling sharpened metal, to the callouses that tipped her palms, to the way her skin seemed just slightly darker, that spoke of days spent in the sun, sun kissed and weathered to the plains.

“We’ll stay for as long as we can,” Clarke answered, and she looked to Jessa briefly to see the girl nod an agreement.

And perhaps Clarke found that she had expected her mother to beg, to plead for her to stay, to linger for longer than they would, but she saw an acceptance wash over Abby’s face, she saw an understanding, and she saw a flicker of something deeper that Clarke thought she had only discovered after the pain had begun to temper.

And so Abby smiled sadly, she wiped a hand across her face for a moment and she took in a deep breath before speaking once more.

“Ok.”

 

* * *

 

Standing outside her old quarters was unusual, was bizarre, and it seemed to reach out to her with twisted claws that unsettled and prickled her skin.

“This is where you lived?” Jessa asked, and Clarke looked down to the girl to find one of her hands scratching her chin, another tucked into her belt as she took in the metal, the reflecting of the light, and the tech that seemed too loud, too vibrant.

“Yeah,” Clarke answered, and she couldn’t help but to think it strange that where she now stood in the centre of her quarters seemed to feel too confined, too closed off from the outside world.

“You don’t like it,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile at Jessa’s words, the girl sensing her discomfort easily.

“I’m just not used to it,” Clarke answered, and she tried to temper the unease in her stomach.

“We’ll camp outside,” Jessa countered, and with that the girl turned and made her way to the door somewhere behind them.

And perhaps Clarke thought that not so bad.

 

* * *

 

The sun began to set by the time Clarke and Jessa found themselves alone in their small tent. Clarke had found that the day passed by slowly at times, where any conversation she had had with an old acquaintance, or an old friend had played out exactly as she had expected at times, and far too differently than she could ever have anticipated. Abby had hardly left her side, too, her mother too uncertain and disbelieving of her return to leave her be for too long. But Clarke didn’t mind her mother’s presence through each conversation she had had, she didn’t mind her mother’s quiet, and she couldn’t even blame her.

But perhaps most of all she found that Jessa seemed to bring a sense of stability to her mind that she hadn’t expected, and perhaps it was because the girl had remained quiet, had remained guarded in her company, and Clarke knew her to be unsure of her place, of what to do, and what to say. And because of that Clarke made sure to check on the girl every moment she could, whether it be a careful glance shared between them both or a subtle squeeze of a shoulder or hand.

And Clarke was under no mistake that Jessa must have been facing her own pains, however guarded they be, for Clarke was sure being so close to tech, to Skaikru most have brought forth memories of the missile that had struck Ton DC, that had been the catalyst Jessa needed to leave, to seek out whatever peace she could find in solitude.

And so Clarke sighed quietly, she whispered a word of apology and she continued to pull the small brush through Jessa’s hair, each stroke coming surely and smoothly as she continued to tame the mane of hair that cascaded down Jessa’s back.

“You’re quiet,” Clarke said as she looked to the shadows that danced around their tent, where the few candles that burnt and cast the interior in an orange glow flickered with little care for the wind that filtered through whatever small gaps in the tent it could find.

Jessa hummed a response that seemed noncommittal, distracted, unsure and uneasy of whatever thoughts seemed to be drifting through her mind.

“I like Harper,” Jessa said eventually, and Clarke smiled at the memory of Jessa showing both Harper and Monroe her horse earlier in the day. “And Monroe.”

“They’re good,” Clarke answered, and she found herself a little sad at the memories of when she had been trapped in the Mountain, of how Harper had been drilled into.

But Clarke didn’t miss the way Jessa didn’t quite bring up Bellamy, of how he had seemed guarded and had held her at arms length after the shock of her arrival had worn off, yet Clarke couldn’t blame him, for she knew her leaving him at the gates of what was once Camp Jaha had been a wound that must have still felt raw, too sharp and piercing even still. She knew though, that given time and space, that Bellamy would see reason, would temper his own emotions.

And she knew, if only because it had taken her time to do so.

“You’re mother is a healer,” Jessa said after a moment, and Clarke whispered a quiet sorry as the girl winced as Clarke pulled the brush through a knot in her hair.

“Yeah,” Clarke answered, “she is.”

“And we are, too,” Jessa said, “or I am training to be one some day,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to smile at the picture Jessa’s words painted in her mind.

“Only if you want to be a healer,” Clarke said, and she meant it, if only because she wanted Jessa to forge her own future, she wished for the girl to have a life unburdened, unhindered by the pains of whatever experiences in life that were surely lying in wait.

Jessa hummed something unspoken once more, and Clarke found herself falling quiet as she turned her attention back to Jessa’s hair, to the braids that she would need to re-braid now that they had a moment to reprieve in their journey. But as she continued to fall into the familiarity of motion, into a pattern that they had both come to recognise over the years, Clarke began to think of the things she had kept quiet in the conversations she had had with those she only now reconnected with.

And she was sure her mother would wish to know of her troubles as much as her loves, of how life had taken her in a direction she had never anticipated. But perhaps for now Clarke would keep those things quiet and secret, if only to spare others from whatever worries they were to have. But perhaps most of all, she found herself deciding to keep just how close to losing herself she had been. Or perhaps Clarke thought her rambling mind made little sense. And that thought brought a smile to her lips for she recognised the cycle she had fallen into, into the pattern her life had begun to live.

But perhaps seeking to close old wounds was a step in the right direction.

It was with that thought, that idea of tempering old pains that brought her thoughts, her wishes and her desires to a woman she had refused to acknowledge more than she knew she should.

Clarke had hardly even let herself think of her name, think of her face, of her presence.

But it was a final battle she knew she would need to face.

And so Clarke let herself fall into the memories, and she remembered their first meeting, of coming face to face with a vision of death, of anger and suspicion, where blackened cheeks and hallowed eyes seemed to stare into her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

And she remembered the days and nights they had spent hunched over her war table, over battle plans, where she would find herself worrying only to be told that worrying was nothing but a waste of time.

She remembered the pauna, too, she remembered Quint, how he had ambushed her, had tried to take her life only to be stopped by a knife thrown through the air with a precision and a skill too stunning for her to quite comprehend. She remembered being trapped in the pauna’s lair, she remembered being told to leave her behind.

And perhaps that brought a smile to her lips, if only because it reminded her of times when she had been less burdened by her actions. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was simply a smile for the times that had seemed easier somehow.

But of all the times they had shared, Clarke found that her thoughts never strayed too far from the foot of the Mountain, where she had been betrayed, where she had been blindsided, had been fooled and tricked and cornered, backed into a choice and a decision she was to make that would seal the fate of hundreds of people.

But still, dwelling of things long gone was something she knew not to do, if only because she had done so already, had done so for nights, and days, and she knew by now how quickly she would spiral, would second guess, would try to reason and find reason and fault in what had happened.

“Clarke?” Jessa’s voice broke through her mind and brought her to the present.

Clarke blinked just once as her gaze settled on Jessa’s face that peered over a shoulder, eyes worried in their flickering, and Clarke was sure she had missed a question, a sentence, a thought Jessa must have voiced.

“Sorry,” Clarke said, “what did you say?”

“You were lost,” Jessa said quietly. “You stopped brushing my hair,” and she gestured to the brush Clarke held loosely in a hand now by her side.

“Oh,” and Clarke looked down for a moment as she bit her lip and tried to think of how to explain. “Sorry,” she said.

“Do you want to talk?” Jessa asked, and Clarke couldn’t help but to let her heart beat a bit more fully in her chest at the worry in Jessa’s gaze.

“I—” and she did, at least partly, but yet she found that she knew not what to say. Or perhaps she merely feared whatever conversations should come to be.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Jessa said, and Clarke found her head tilting to the side as she tried to think of who Jessa spoke of.

“Her?” Clarke echoed.

“Lexa,” Jessa shrugged. “The Commander.”

“Lexa,” and Clarke couldn’t quite hold back the slightest frown that graced her forehead as she took in the way Jessa’s eyes didn’t waver, in the way her freckles seemed to shine a little more brightly, or even how the few untamed strands of her hair seemed to stick up in any direction they desired.

“She did something bad, didn’t she?” Jessa said, and her voice came out gently, came out carefully, with no hint of probing, no hint of trying to gleam more than was offered.

But Jessa’s words didn’t quite sting as much as Clarke would have thought they would, and for why she didn’t know. She didn’t even quite know how Jessa could have known, have discerned. But that, too, she found didn’t matter. Not anymore.

“She did,” and Clarke looked to the corner of her tent, to the shadows that flickered in the corners of her vision. “But I did bad things, too,” Clarke said.

“You did what you thought was right,” and Jessa’s determination, the way her chin raised, and the way she seemed to straighten her shoulders brought a smile more fiercely across Clarke’s lips.

And perhaps, if she looked passed the guilt, and any thing she had once seen as a burden and a pain, Clarke could accept Jessa’s words as a truth.

“I did,” and the truth seemed to slip from Clarke’s lips just barely dulled, just barely muted. But still, perhaps it was good to voice and to let free.

“Mayb—”

Jessa was cut off by the horn that echoed out lowly, its sound deep and rich and echoing as it rolled over the forest, over the trees that stood away from Arkadia’s gates. She heard the thumping of hoof against hard packed dirt, she heard the heavy breathing of war horses as they neared.

“The Commander?” Jessa asked as her head turned to the sounds of the approaching horses.

“I don’t think so,” Clarke answered.

And so she rose, glanced to Jessa to find that the girl also rose to her feet and began to follow her out the tent.

The setting sun greeted them as they exited their tent, its rays just barely brushing the treetops in one last farewell. The sky seemed to purple and darken with each passing second, and Clarke’s gaze snapped to the gates of Arkadia in the short distance.

Horses and warriors were already piling into the open space left by the gates, and Clarke saw Arkadia’s guards greeting some, waving others forward, even helping to unload whatever supplies were brought.

And the scene brought a smile to her lips, if only because it seemed easy, it seemed simple, without thought or issue, each warrior seemingly happy to accept help when offered, happy to greet a familiar face when recognised.

Clarke’s attention was drawn to the man who stretched his arms, who rolled his shoulders, and the woman who came to stand beside him, whose hair was braided out of her eyes in a fierce pattern.

Octavia and Lincoln seemed in deep conversation with one of the guards, a man Clarke just barely remembered, and she saw smiles upon faces, frowns and confusion, and she saw the guard point her way, and she knew what must have been shared between them then because both Lincoln and Octavia looked her way, and she couldn’t quite stem the feeling of unease at the way Octavia’s eyes narrowed, or the way Lincoln seemed unsure of what stood before him.

But, as Clarke let her gaze meet Octavia’s for a long moment, as she returned Lincolns uncertainty with her own, what took her attention the most was another warrior who approached, whose short hair curled fiercely, whose tattooed and scarred face seemed older than the few years that had passed since she last saw her.

Indra’s footsteps seemed to come slowly and full of caution, and it took Clarke a moment longer to realise that the woman looked not at her, but at Jessa who now stood stiffly, one hand now clutching at the play thing ever tucked into her belt, the other white knuckled and clenched into a tight fist.

Jessa’s lips seemed pursed tightly, too, and Clarke found herself half reaching for the girl, half reaching for some kind of purchase, but before she could urge her hand to do so Jessa began to walk forward.

Clarke’s gaze snapped back to Indra who continued to cross the distance, and Clarke was sure to any other, the way Indra’s face seemed to tighten, and the way her steps seemed to falter, would be seen as anger, as pain and fury, but as Clarke continued to look at the older woman, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of something more.

And so Clarke found herself standing in place outside her small tent as Jessa continued to cross the distance, over the hard packed dirt, through what little muddied puddles scattered the ground, and past ramshackle building after half constructed den.

And perhaps Clarke would ask in days to come, in moments of reprieve, when things had settled for herself and for Jessa, but for now she let herself fade into whatever background existed around her as the sun set over the horizon.

And she did so for she recognised the emotions hidden behind Indra’s face, she understood the recognition in the way Jessa took cautious step forward after cautious step, and she recognised that whatever happened before her was not for her to steal, not for her to pry, not for her to sway anymore than her presence had already done.

And so Clarke found herself looking on as Jessa and Indra met somewhere in the open, where one last ray of light fought for its place upon the ground, where the dark of a setting sun shone one last defiant shine.

Indra knelt down on a single knee and she came face to face with Jessa, and though Clarke could only see Jessa’s back, could only see the weathered red of her clothes and the half tamed mane of hair rolling down her back, she knew she could see the shaking of slender shoulders, she knew she could see the pain in the way Jessa’s head bowed.

Indra’s hand rose then, and Clarke watched in silence as the woman let it rest against Jessa’s shoulder, and Clarke could be forgiven for thinking the motion familiar to the older woman.

And so, not for the first time, Clarke knew it important to remember that others fought their own demons as much as she had battled hers.


	29. Chapter 29

The wind seemed to whistle through the air a little more loudly than Clarke was used to. It seemed to rub against every hard edge of metal it could find, and it seemed trapped behind the gates of Arkadia with little ability or want to seek an escape.

And it was strange, it was cold, the morning air seemed crisp, seemed artificially clean, void of the scents of the forests and the lands.

Or maybe it was just different, something Clarke had once known, had once found comfortable and reassuring but had long since faded from her memory.

She took in a deep breath as a bird screeched its wake overhead. Clarke let the cold fill her chest, she let it stretch her ribs, her lungs, her nose and her mind and she found the motion calming, she found it soothing, something she thought peaceful. And so she exhaled in as steady a motion as she could as she pulled a fur more tightly around her shoulders.

She wasn’t sure how long she had spent sitting outside her tent, her ears ever tuned to the quiet breathing of Jessa who remained sleeping inside, whose nights terrors and fears were as tempered as they could be.

Clarke imagined herself a watchful guardian, a lone sentry, a sentinel of sorts, who would watch and look after, care for and nurture with as much hope as she could. Or perhaps, rather than all those things, she simply enjoyed the quiet, simply enjoyed the solitude, the moment of reprieve she had found before others would wake.

And she knew she needed it for she didn’t blame those who had met her reappearance with annoyance, she didn’t blame those who sought to cast hurt her way. Not fully at least, if only because she found herself not so selfish as to ignore that others must have hurt in their own ways.

And yet, neither could she blame herself for wanting to shy away from whatever accusations and angers existed. If only because she was nothing more than human, than a person who wished to find a peace in a life that had seen fit to take her to places never anticipated.

But footsteps interrupted her thoughts, the careful crunch of boot against hard packed dirt seemed to echo out around her in the quiet and Clarke looked in the direction of the sound to find her mother walking her way.

Abby wore a thick coat of fur and leather, stitched and patched together with harder fabrics, with materials from before. Abby’s hands were tucked into deep pockets, and her hair seemed swept and unkempt, slightly tussled from a lack of sleep, from a lack of rest.

“Hi,” Clarke whispered once Abby came to a step before her.

“Hi,” Abby said as she looked around, as her eyes settled on the tent’s entrance behind Clarke. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah,” and Clarke gestured to a spot on the furs beside her. “Of course.”

And so Abby took just a moment longer to ponder whatever thought occurred to her before coming to sit by her side. Clarke moved a little over then, enough that the warm her body had left in the furs would be felt by Abby, and Clarke knew the gesture was welcomed from the quiet hum of thanks she felt vibrant around her.

They fell quiet then, mother and daughter content with existing in the same space, in the same silence, and as Clarke turned her gaze to the forest in the distance, through the gaps in the gates, to the trees and the leaves, bushes and grasses, she found herself wondering what Abby was thinking, she found herself wondering what Abby saw in her, how she saw her now that she had returned, had seen fit to make her self known to her past.

“I understand why you needed to leave,” and Abby’s voice came out as gently as it could, as quiet and full of pain and fear and hurt as possible.

And perhaps Clarke should have expected whatever conversation was to come to have arrived in time, once the shock of her appearance had dissipated.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, and she knew her voice croaked just barely at the edges as she tried not to listen to the pain that escaped Abby’s control. “I’m sorry I stayed away for so long,” and Clarke meant it as much as she could. “I’m sorry I never said hello, I’m sorry I never let you know where I was, that I was safe, that I had found a place, that I needed to heal.”

“I know,” and Abby’s tears came out quiet and gentle as her hand reached out ever so slowly, enough for Clarke to pull away if she wished, “I never gave up hope,” and Abby’s hand closed around Clarke’s, she squeezed as tightly as she could and Clarke found that she embraced the pain, the hurt and the angers and fears. “Even when I still had hope, I thought I had lost you,” and Clarke couldn’t hold back the choked sob that broke past her lips as her mother’s finger’s began to shake. “I thought I lost you when you found out the truth about your father,” and Clarke bit her lip. “And I knew I lost you when you left, when you felt like you would find whatever you searched for in the forests, in the wild, and not in me,” and Clarke tried to shake her thoughts free. “I blamed myself for so long,” Abby continued. “I blamed myself for everything. I blamed myself.”

“I know,” Clarke found herself saying, and she knew for she was sure if their roles had been reversed that she would blame herself, too, if only because she knew she understood the love Abby felt now.

“I was a horrible mother,” Abby continued. “I still am,” and Abby’s tears seemed to land upon the furs loud enough for Clarke to hear. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, Clarke,” she said, and Clarke turned to her mother in time to see her wipe a hand across her eyes roughly. “I’ve done so many things I wish I could take back,” and Clarke watched as her mother’s lips trembled as fiercely as she knew hers to be trembling. “But of all the things that have happened, of all the things I’ve done, of all the mistakes I’ve made, that I wish I could take back, that I wish I never did,” and Abby paused for long enough that her vision must have cleared, that her eyes seemed to harden and hold Clarke’s gaze. “You were never one of them. You could never be one of them,” and Abby’s free hand reached up tentatively, her fingers warm as they brushed a tear from Clarke’s cheek. “You will never be one of them.”

“M—” but Clarke found her voice seemed to die in her throat, it didn’t seem to let itself break free. “I—” and maybe she was too afraid to let herself fight through the pain in her chest now that she was faced with the consequences.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Abby whispered. “You won’t ever have to say anything, Clarke,” and Abby’s head shook just once. “I’m so proud of you,” and Clarke knew her mother meant it, she knew her mother spoke from somewhere full of regret, full of years worth of memories not shared between mother and daughter, of years spent lost to the world. “I’m so proud of the things you’ve done. I’m so proud of you for surviving. Of doing what you needed to do, of learning to live,” and Abby smiled something bittersweet, something sad, something kind. “Of finding love,” and Abby’s eyes moved to the tent for a moment, to where Jessa remained sheltered from the pain of the cold and the outside.

“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done,” Clarke found herself saying, and she watched as Abby’s eyes returned to her. “I hope I never have to do anything like I’ve done again. I hope I won’t have to take another life, I hope I’ll live the rest of my life in peace, and I try to make aments every chance I get. I try to do the right thing, I try to be what dad would want me to do be,” and the words she spoke seemed to sting deeper into her mind with each syllable, each utterance.

“He’d be proud of you,” Abby said, and Clarke watched as her mother closed her eyes for a long moment. “He’d be proud of you no matter what,” and Clarke hoped he would.

“I hope so.”

Abby paused for a moment as she looked up into the sky, and to the reddening of the few clouds overhead.

“I should get back,” she said quietly, and Clarke looked around them, to the Trikru warriors who stirred from sleep, who seemed to be waking in their own tents set not far away. “The med bay will begin to fill soon,” and Abby sighed lightly. “We’re always busy when warriors stay for a few days,” and Clarke wasn’t surprised.

“I’ll visit some time today,” Clarke said as she came to stand alongside Abby. “I’ll help, Jessa, too,” and so Abby paused for just a moment as she made a decision, and Clarke saw the tentativeness in her step, in her uncertainty, but Clarke leant forward, she closed the distance and she embraced her mother tightly, and she knew things would be strained, would be uncertain between them, but for now she was happy with knowing things had begun to mend, at least in the smallest of ways.

Clarke ducked back into the tent as Abby’s footsteps faded into the background, and she blinked for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dimmed light. And as Clarke’s vision settled she found Jessa squinting at her in the dark, her hair tussled, messed and far too untamed for being allowed outside and into the open.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” Jessa said with a shrug. “I woke up by myself,” and she yawned and stretched as a small groan fell from her lips. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Clarke answered.

Jessa paused then, and Clarke thought she sensed the girl trying to think of something to say, of how to voice whatever thoughts seemed to be forming within her mind and so she came to sit on the edge of the bed, and she wrapped an arm around Jessa as she came to sit beside her, knees tucked to her chest and her sleep furs wrapped around her body.

“You were speaking to your mother,” Jessa said after a moment, and Clarke let her gaze settle upon Jessa who seemed not so sure of where to look.

“I was,” Clarke answered with the slightest of frowns.

“She is your family,” and the words came out as much statement as they did careful question.

“She is,” Clarke said, and she thought she sensed where the conversation might be going.

“And we’re family,” and the barest hint of hesitation in Jessa’s voice made Clarke’s heart ache enough for her to pull Jessa closer to her, was enough for her to press her lips to Jessa’s head.

“Of course, Jessa,” and Clarke pulled away enough that she could look Jessa in the eyes, “always.”

Jessa paused for a long moment then, and Clarke saw the girl trying to form words, trying to settle thought, and find the courage to ask whatever question seemed to be pulling at the fear in the very corners of her mind.

But Jessa took in a deep breath, and Clarke saw the determination taking hold in Jessa’s gaze as the girl steeled her worries.

“Does that mean she is my family, too?”

Clarke smiled at the question, and she knew it to be full of an emotion she had seen upon her own mother’s face countless times in her youth.

“If you want her to be,” Clarke said.

And so Jessa looked away for just a moment, she frowned and she bit her lip as her nose crinkled in thought.

But when she met her gaze once more, Clarke knew the answer before Jessa let it free.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

And so the few days Clarke spent at Arkadia flashed by, each hour was spent with those she had once known, Abby never far from her side, Jessa ever wide eyed and cautious as she took in each new detail of how Skaikru lived. Lincoln had spoken to her, too, had been impressed by her ability to use bow and fire arrow, he had even been awed in his own quiet way at the horses Clarke and Jessa had brought with them, whose sized was larger than the largest Trikru mounts.

Bellamy had warmed to her presence, too, and it had taken long conversations, some filled with anger, raised voices full of anger and pain and hurt, of acceptance and sorrows, but he had tempered whatever existed within his heart with the simple realisation that Clarke had returned, had needed to do whatever it was she had done. But Clarke was thankful she had had Harper and Monroe to turn to, who had been more open to her, had seemed more forgiving, and perhaps it was for the simple reason that they had always been content with being led, of not worrying about leading, of being responsible for much more than simply surviving each day on the ground without worry for much more.

But Octavia had taken longer to warm to her, had taken time, space and a tact that Clarke had had little patience for, and it wasn’t until Lincoln and Bellamy had cornered her, had urged her to at least see the light that had cast such a great shadow, and Clarke was never so foolish as to think it would be so simple, but she was thankful for Lincoln’s presence, his calming words, each thing enough to temper what Octavia let free.

Clarke had asked about Raven, Monty and Jasper, too, and she had cursed herself on the second day when she had realised she had found no trace of them, no sign of them, had barely even thought of them. And her question had been met with _the Mountain,_ and perhaps Clarke could be forgiven for taking pause at that, at, just for a moment, reconsidering whether she wanted to visit the shadow that lurked deep in the recesses of her mid, but she knew she had not come so far, had not braved the world only to shy away at the last stretch of whatever journey she had embarked upon.

And so Clarke now found herself atop her horse, whose gait was easy, carefree, lumbering and calming as it moved past tree and bush, over fallen trunk and flattened lands.

Jessa rode beside her, the girl’s gaze taking in the forests that she had once called home, had once played in, had once called a safe haven in times far gone. Jessa had been quiet for a day earlier though, her reunion with Indra having had an effect on her that Clarke thought not for her to pry too deeply into, and so she had given the girl time, space, company when needed and comfort when required, and maybe in time Clarke would ask, but not now, or perhaps never, if only because she knew it a past Jessa wished to leave be, if only because the girl had hardly spoken of her life amongst the Trikru, of her mother, her father, of any siblings she may have had before the bombing of Ton DC.

Abby’s voice broke through her thoughts then, and Clarke glanced past Jessa to her mother, to find the older woman talking quietly to the girl, whose own horse seemed just a little wary of the one Jessa sat atop of, but Clarke couldn’t even try to fight the smile that found its way across her lips as she took in the moment shared between Abby and Jessa. And she couldn’t for she knew her mother reached out to the girl, reached out to her in any way she could, and Clarke knew it to be because Abby wished not to miss whatever life Jessa was to have, whatever relationship was to be forged between them.

And maybe for the briefest of moments Clarke thought that whatever pains she had once experienced had been worth it. If only because she thought the moment she looked upon as something special, something to remember and to embrace.

 

* * *

 

Clarke hadn’t put much thought into what the Mountain had become, she hadn’t given much thought to the stories she had heard during her travels. But maybe she should have.

And she should have for she now stood in a spot she had once stood years earlier, when war cries had echoed out around her, where blood and sweat had clung to the bodies of every warrior that stood by her side.

But now, in that same spot, things seemed so very different.

The sun shone down upon the lands, each ray that fought for its place upon the ground blinding in its light, warm in its touch. The sky was blue, clear and cloudless, even the birds seemed to embrace the change, the warmth in the barely there reprieve of a soon to be winter.

Warriors moved about the open gates of the Mountain, some through the permanently open maws, some milling about near by. Camp fires burnt and crackled, the sounds of sparring echoed out through the trees and even laughter and conversation drifted on the wind.

And Clarke tried to embrace all those things as much as she could. She tried to let those sounds, those noises, those echoed replace what had once been her only memory of the Mountain.

“It’s changed a lot over the years,” Abby’s voice came out quiet and careful, and Clarke knew her mother must have sensed her worry.

“It has,” Clarke said as she saw a warrior eyeing her horses, awe clearly on his face.

“I spend a lot of time here, Jackson, too,” Abby continued. “We use it for the more serious injuries that we can’t deal with in Arkadia,” and Abby paused for a moment. “It took the grounders a long time before they were comfortable with the situation,” and she paused for a moment. “But they’re seeing its uses now, how it can help.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, and she looked around for a moment longer. “It’s hard to believe,” and it was. If only because she had once dreaded ever setting foot within its confines once more.

And so Clarke steeled her emotions, took a moment to make sure Jessa seemed ok with whatever was to happen and then she took a step forward.

 

* * *

 

Walking the halls of the Mountain was something that Clarke found odd. And she found it odd for she recognised the walls, the twists and turns and she remembered the fear, the anger, the revulsion and the hopelessness. But all those things contrasted too blindly with what the Mountain had become, and they contrasted with the walls that now were fur covered, with tapestries and burning flames hanging from the walls, even wood had been brought in from outside, tree branches and large sheets of bark hung against the walls, all in the hope of bringing some of the forest to the depths of the Mountain.

Warriors moved about, too, some in groups, some on their own, each with a mission in mind, with a purpose, some carrying supplies, others in quiet conversation about things she couldn’t quite grasp.

Members from a number of clans seemed to linger about, too, and Clarke recognised those from the Glowing Forest, from Trikru, Azgeda, some from Rock Line, even a few from the Plains Riders who nodded her way with an enthusiasm and a delight at another seemingly tired traveller from their homeland.

But perhaps Clarke found that she liked the way things had become. And perhaps she liked it for those she passed looked to her not as an outsider, not as someone born in the skies, but as another whose life had begun on the ground, and whose fight would one day end with the burning of a pyre.

Jessa walked close by her side too, but the girl seemed a little more quiet now, a little more guarded, and Clarke couldn’t blame her, she knew Jessa had her own demons that she faced, that she struggled with, and that their proximity to whatever tech had stolen what ever future the girl had once dreamt of was perhaps too daunting for her to grasp.

But through each step, each pause and each careful moment Jessa stayed by her side, she shadowed each step she took and she remained firm in whatever thing she used to keep her mind steeled.

And Clarke hadn’t even quite had a destination in mind after she had stabled their horses at the mouth of the Mountain, and she hadn’t quite known where to go, but Abby had sensed her uncertainties, and so Clarke had fallen into step behind her as she began to move through the halls.

But maybe following another, that moving on autopilot and without much thought was what was needed for Clarke to temper her emotions, at least long enough that the shock would wear off, at least long enough that she would remain steady enough in her thoughts so as not to break.

And so they came to a pause outside doors that seemed permanently opened. Through the doors was a large room that Clarke recognised as a workshop of sorts, where twisted tech and wiring, metal and wood and rock and stone littered tables large and small. Bright flood lights shone down from the ceiling, each one suspended on a swinging chain that clinked quietly to the barely there breeze that seemed to filter through the Mountain now that every door seemed opened to the air.

Abby caught her gaze then and Clarke saw her mother’s understanding in the way she smiled softly and gestured for her to step forward.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Abby said, and Clarke returned her words with her own smile before she took a step forward and through the open doors.

“What is this place?” Jessa asked from beside her, and Clarke followed Jessa’s gaze to the nearest table where the remains of what Clarke assumed was a vehicle lay scattered and broken and destroyed.

“A place where things are created,” Clarke said after a moment of contemplation. “Where we turn things into tech to help us,” and Clarke saw an understanding on Jessa’s face.

“Skaikru’s blacksmith shop?”

“Yeah,” Clarke smiled. “Something like that.”

A shadow fell across them then, and Clarke looked up to see a Trikru woman standing before them, curiosity in her eyes.

“You wish to trade?” She asked as she blinked through the swinging of a flood light against the length of her face.

“No,” Clarke said as she looked around for a moment. “We were just looking for someone,” and Clarke’s gaze moved to the back of the large room as she heard a curse and a saw a spark of light.

“Niylah, can you get me th—”

Clarke couldn’t hold back the smile upon her lips as she looked past the woman to find a face she realised she had missed for a long time.

“Clarke?” Monty’s eyes were wide in shock, his lips slack and his skin was dirtied from grime and oil.

“Hey Monty,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what else to say.

Monty’s hands dropped whatever he had been carrying, and Clarke couldn’t help but to wince at the sound of whatever it was scattering and breaking against the harsh flooring.

But Monty ignored the sounds as he pushed past the woman and came crashing against her in a bruising embrace.

“Holy shit, Clarke,” and Clarke stumbled back just a step as she tried bracing herself.

But Monty must have sensed her own shock for he pulled back after a moment and blinked the surprise away as he took her in.

“Clarke?” and the confusion in his voice was clear for her to hear, and Clarke couldn’t help but to laugh as he slapped himself lightly across the cheek and tried to let whatever he thought stood before him make sense.

“It’s really me,” Clarke said, and she looked at the woman who stood aside, whose confusion was evident. “I’m here,” and Clarke looked back to Monty to see a frown starting to form across his face as he took her in, as he took in the scar across the left side of her forehead and the clothes she wore.

“I can’t believe it,” and she knew the shock was still trapped within his mind. “You’re alive,” and he shook his head for a long moment and squeezed his eyes shut before opening again. “You’re still here,” and Clarke glanced once to Jessa who snorted at that as her arms crossed over her chest.

“I’m still here,” Clarke couldn’t help but to smile again as Monty shook his head for a long moment before letting out an uncontrolled quiet wheeze.

But Clarke’s attention was stolen by movement behind Monty, and as she peered past him she saw a woman limping her way, one leg braced, and a hand pushing off from table edges she passed with a known familiarity.

“Hey Raven,” and Clarke’s words choked somewhere in her throat as she remembered the pain Raven had gone through and must still live with.

“I’m going to be angry with you tomorrow, and for a very long time after,” Raven said simply as she came to stand before her. “But for now,” and Raven paused for a moment to look at Jessa before back to her, and then Raven stepped forward awkwardly and took her in a tight embrace, and perhaps the shock, the suddenness of this reunion, of the way things seemed less full of violence and anger and pain and blame was a shock even to Clarke. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

 

* * *

 

And so Clarke’s day was spent in the workshop. Clarke hadn’t been surprised that after the shock had worn off that both of them had grown quiet, had needed time, explanations, even a moment to vent whatever angers had reared themselves, but through it all Clarke had sat with Jessa by her side, and her mother close by as she met each question and accusation with an understanding and an acceptance that she had things she wished to make right.

It saddened her to find that Jasper had taken years to heal, though, and it saddened her to discover that his once jovial and kind self had turned into something quiet, something less willing to open up. But Monty had tempered whatever guilt she had had with the explanation that Monty had turned to farming, had turned to helping grow crops in the Mountain’s green house, where he could work in peace, in quiet. And perhaps that was all Clarke could hope for, if only because she remembered the way he had looked with Maya in his arms, how hurt and broken he had seemed.

Clarke had explained Jessa in as simple a way as she could, and she couldn’t help but to feel just a little spark of worry at the way Jessa seemed drawn to the sparking tech, to the way it seemed not so safe for those around despite Raven’s assertion that it was safe.

And it was tiring, Clarke found, to be constantly explaining herself, it was tiring having spent so much time travelling from Raska to Arkadia, and only having a few short days there before feeling the call of the Mountain, and it had been tiring having to explain the things she had done, the lives she had lived away.

It was with a yawn, a setting sun and the passing of a day that Clarke said farewell to Raven and Monty and had promised to stay for at least a day, for at least long enough for them to reconnect, to rekindle whatever friendship had long since set sail.

Abby had insisted that they stay in her quarters that night, that they have a warm bed, a hot meal and the quiet of a sleeping Mountain to rest, and if Clarke had been less tired she perhaps would have insisted on not intruding, perhaps she would have insisted on finding their own place to sleep, but as she stifled a yawn and as Jessa’s eyes seemed to droop with each passing second Clarke had found herself agreeing.

And so Clarke had found herself drifting to sleep in her mothers quarters in the depths of the Mountain, and despite the nature of where she had found herself, she had thought it calming in an odd way, if only because it seemed not so real, not so settled for her.

But perhaps it was her mind’s way of preparing her for what was to come.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke with a start and a choked gasp that seemed to echo out through the quarters. It took her a moment of wild searching before her heart seemed to slow and for her mind to remember where she found herself.

She couldn’t help but to curse quietly as she looked around, as she searched for Jessa only to find the girl fast asleep, the previous day and the hours spent travelling having taken a toll of her body.

But Clarke’s gaze snapped to the corner of the room, to the couch pushed up against a wall, to where her mother had insisted on sleeping. And Clarke couldn’t help but to feel a pang of guilt as she saw Abby’s eyes opened, concern and worry clear for her to see.

“Are you ok?” and Abby’s voice came out quiet and careful in the dark, the sole light to give them vision a candle that flickered atop a worn desk.

“Yeah,” and Clarke sat carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and she knew sleep would not come for her again, she knew her mind would keep her awake for hours to come.

“Are you?” Abby asked as she stood and wrapped the furs around her shoulders as she approached.

“I am,” Clarke said, and she wondered if she looked as lost to her mother as she felt in times like this. “This is how I wake sometimes,” Clarke said simply, and she knew she saw the pain across Abby’s face. “I’m ok,” but Clarke looked away as her mother came to a stop before her, as worry took hold of her gaze. “I just need a moment to myself,” Clarke said, and she stood with a glance over her shoulder to Jessa who seemed to roll into the heat her body left behind. “I’ll be back,” Clarke said, and she made sure she met her mother’s eyes. “I promise.”

And perhaps Clarke couldn’t blame her mother for being cautious in the way her eyes never wavered, if only because the last time Clarke had been allowed to disappear alone she had left for years, but she knew she recognised an understanding in her mother’s nod, and so Clarke smiled as confidently as she could before she slung furs over her sleep clothes and made her way to the door.

And, as Clarke found herself stepping from the room, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something called her forward.

 

* * *

 

The Mountain always seemed to deaden at the night’s darkest hour, where the moon seemed too unsure of whether it wished to rise further in the sky or to shy away from the lands and return to its place below the horizon.

And it was strange, she thought to walk the halls of what was once her people’s enemy, to trace the cracks in the stone wall, and to find that her people had taken over what had once been a demon and a monster that had stolen life from all who had cowered in fear.

But Lexa found that she liked the solitude of the night for it let her live as freely as she ever could, if only because she could find some semblance of peace in the Mountain’s depths without having to remain in her quarters, whether in Polis of in her tent.

And she thought it because her mind would stray too far to times of regret if she remained solitary for too long, she thought her body would remain restless and too uncertain of what to do in the nights.

Or perhaps it was simply because she had found herself with little to do since the fall of Azgeda than to listen to her ambassadors, to listen to their complaints, to wage war, not with violence, but with word, with threat of tariffs, of exchanging goods from one clan to another, and of ensuring her people would have enough for what ever troubles would come across them.

And perhaps it was a selfish thought to wish for violence, to wish for action, for something to happen that would let her restlessness find a victim other than her own mind. And she knew it to be.

If only because what she now lived was what she had killed for, what she had fought to accomplish, what she had longed to achieve for as long as she could imagine.

But maybe that was now what it meant to be Commander. Perhaps her life would now fade away in service to her people, where her life would end not in one last defiant stand at the tip of a blade, but rather, it would end with the quiet of a setting moon, where the dark of a fearful night would bleed into the waking of a brighter day without fanfare or triumph, where those who lived would never quite realise that the violence had been chased away before it was nothing more than a tale told to children too young to know anything but peace.

And wasn’t that a selfish thought?

Lexa scoffed as loudly as she dared, and she knew she sensed Ryder’s barest confusion at the sound as he followed her ever so steadfast in his duties. But even his life, even his duty had seemed to become little more than a shell of what it had once been.

And perhaps that realisation was sad, for she knew couldn’t help but to compare his life to that of Gustus, to the man who had done what he thought best to ensure her survival time after time, whose body had taken blade and wound for her. And she couldn’t help but to feel saddened that Ryder had become nothing but a shadow of what he had replaced, in name and in role.

If only because she thought her death something even Ryder’s body would not be able to stop.

Lexa paused then, and she let herself take in the hallway she stood in, and she found that she had come to crossroads, an intersection, a choice, to turn left, to turn right, to take her steps down a path she knew would return her to her quarters, or to take a journey that would prolong whatever solitude she found she embraced.

She wasn’t so sure what made her choose the direction she chose though, she wasn’t even so sure she knew which direction she stepped towards.

But she found that she didn’t care.

And so she continued forward with cautious step after cautious step, each torch that flamed and flickered doing little to light her way in the dark of the Mountain.

Lexa continued to walk for what seemed like hours of aimless wandering, of lost contemplation. With each step she found herself remembering those she had lost, those who had once cared for her, who had known her as more than just Heda, as more than just natblida. As more.

And though she would never admit it, would never even accept it, she thought it sad. And she thought it sad that her legacy, if she was so lucky as to see peace last in her lifetime, would be that of a warrior of a leader, as someone who had been devoted to her people for as long as she breathed, for as long as her heart beat the black of her blood through her veins.

And it saddened her that her dreams would die with her last breath, that the memories of those she had loved would cease when she did.

But wasn’t that what she had been taught for as long as she could remember? Wasn’t that what had been whispered to her through the flame? Wasn’t that what she had accepted, had used as a mantra, as a guiding force through every decision she made?

Lexa came to a stop then, somewhere in the middle of a lonely hallway where a single flame burnt at the far end, whose walls held the cracks of lives long since lived, whose emptiness seemed as cold and as quiet as the echoes in her mind.

“I am sorry,” Lexa said into the quiet, into the solitude of the night. “I am sorry,” and perhaps she couldn’t quite grasp who she apologised to, and for what she apologised. But she thought it important to ask for forgiveness, to ask for a reprieve from the guilt, from the loss, from the hurt and the anger and the sense of isolation she had come to embrace with each passing beat of her heart. “I am sor—”

“Lexa?”

The voice cut into her mind as cruelly as it did into her dreams, and Lexa couldn’t help but to let her eyes close and to wonder, perhaps even to hope that she had simply died in her wonderings, had fallen, had slipped and struck her head against the ground hard enough to spill her blood and her life for some lonely warrior to discover with the rising of the sun.

“Lexa?”

The voice came more loudly now, more uncertain, more full of cautionthan she had heard in years.

But she heard the approaching footsteps, she heard the quiet breath, and she heard the uncertainty in the way step faltered somewhere in front of her.

And so Lexa’s eyes opened to find Clarke standing paces from her, where the light of the lone flame cast her in a glow, red and rich and full of life, orange and warm, something kind, something graceful and full of beauty and defiance.

Lexa blinked slowly as she tried to let her mind steady and her thoughts return to the present, and as she did so she thought she saw something too cruel within the blue of Clarke’s eyes from across the emptiness between them.

“Clarke,” Lexa said as she straightened her back and tried not to gaze too clearly at the way the furs wrapped around Clarke’s body exposed a naked shoulder that gleamed golden in the light.

“Lexa,” Clarke echoed.

“Clarke,” and perhaps Lexa found herself unsure of what to do.

“What are you doing?” and Lexa was a fool to think she heard anything more than nothing in the question.

“I could not seep,” Lexa said, and she thought the statement safe enough to let free.

“Same,” Clarke said after a moment. “I—”

“I do not wish to disturb your night, Clarke,” and the words cut deep into her own heart, but Lexa believed them as much as she believed the truth in her heart.

And so she made to turn, to walk away, to leave Clarke bathed in a light that made her too beautiful for her to be allowed to memorise. And it hurt, it hurt, and it made her wish to scream, to cry, to rage her anger into the ni—

“Don’t turn your back on me,” the words cut into her more sharply than any blade, more painfully than any loss of life, more fully than her own demons. “Not again.”


	30. Chapter 30

Lexa stood bathed in a shadow, and from where Clarke stood she could only just make out the outline of a cheek that curved away from her. Light from the burning flame continued to flicker and dance a darkness around them both, its burning heat the only sound to break through the quiet that they now found themselves in.

Clarke didn’t quite know why she had said the words she said, she didn’t even really mean to have said what she said.

But, perhaps embracing whatever words were to now be spoken was what she had needed to do for days, ever since she had first laid eyes upon Lexa in her small home so far away.

“Please,” Clarke said, and she felt herself take a step forward, she felt the heat of the burning flame leave her behind and she knew she saw Lexa flinch just barely at her approach.

But Lexa turned, and Clarke couldn’t help but to feel an ache somewhere buried in her chest at the way shadows seemed to claw at Lexa’s eyes, at the way her shoulders seemed too squared, too steady, too firm for the loneliness of the hour.

It surprised Clarke to find that she came to a cautious step just a pace from Lexa, that they looked each other in the eyes, and that Clarke was sure if she looked close enough, she could even count the wrinkles that had begun to find a home upon Lexa’s face.

But when Clarke’s gaze settled upon Lexa, she found an emotion hidden behind her eyes, something uncertain and unspoken, something she thought bordered pain and comfort.

“I—” Clarke bit back whatever she was to say, if only because she thought it to be insufficient, not enough to ever live up to the pain she had once lived through. “I don’t know what to say,” perhaps the truth was the best thing for her to say.

“There is nothing to say, Clarke,” Lexa said, and the woman’s words came out simple, they came calm, with an ease and a steadiness that made Clarke’s eyes roll, that made her annoyances just barely flicker to life.

“How can you say that?” and Clarke had meant for the retort to come out biting, scathing, perhaps even angry. But instead, to her ears, it seemed unsure, it seemed full of an emotion, full of a desire and a plea for something more. “How can you say that? That there’s nothing to say?” and she pulled the fur around her shoulders a little more tightly to shield from the cold and from the dark.

Lexa’s lips parted for just a moment, and Clarke thought the motion long enough that she could count the breaths Lexa took before she let herself speak once more.

“What is there to say, Clarke?”

And if Clarke had been anyone else, if Lexa had been anyone else. And if what existed in their shared pasts had never come to be, Clarke would have been sure that the words were meant to be callous, to be cruel, to be indifferent and uncaring.

But she knew them to be more.

And so, “how can you say that, Lexa?” Clarke said, and she found that her head shook ever so slightly. “How can you say there’s nothing to say?” and Clarke gestured around them, to the dark of the lone hallway they stood within, to the flickering of a flame that seemed so very familiar to her, and to the shadow that Lexa seemed to have embraced, if only to shy away from what Clarke was sure was the emotion she knew to be within her eyes. “How? When we’re here?”

Lexa’s lips parted just once more, and Clarke saw the woman try to think, try to war with whatever it was that existed within her mind.

“What do you wish for me to say, Clarke?” and perhaps if Clarke cared less, perhaps if she hadn’t remembered what it had felt that night, she would have missed the pain within Lexa’s eyes.

“Something,” and perhaps Clarke should have known what she wished to hear. “Anything,” and she shrugged. “More than nothing,” but as Clarke continued to let herself take in the woman who stood before her, as she continued to remember the things they had shared, she found that a realisation dawned upon her as slowly as the moon turned to the stars. “You’re afraid,” and Clarke let her voice come out as steady as it could. “Aren’t you?”

“I am afraid?” and Clarke couldn’t help but to see the barest raising of Lexa’s eyebrow.

“You are,” Clarke said. “You’re afraid to face whatever happened.”

“And what happened, Clarke?” and again Lexa’s words came out too calm, too easy, too false upon her tongue.

Clarke couldn’t help but to laugh then, and the sound came out bitter, came out sad, came out frustrated and tinged with a hurt that seemed to spring upon her too quickly for her to really grasp.

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Lexa,” and Clarke turned, she shook her head and she found her back resting against the harshness of the stone wall, whose cold seemed to bleed through the furs around her shoulders and settle into the very core of her body.

Clarke was sure she heard Lexa’s feet shift ever so slightly then, but she didn’t know whether it was to turn away from her, to hide from whatever image Clarke had become, or whether it was to embrace, to accept. And most of all, Clarke hated the fact that she found herself hoping only one of those was a truth.

“Is this how it’s going to be like now?” and Clarke found herself sliding down the wall slowly until she sat on the ground, until she brought her knees to her chest. “Is it?” and she turned her face up to find Lexa looking at her, eyes just slightly wider, just slightly more uncertain and full of something Clarke dared not look upon for too long.

“Clarke,” and she knew she heard something more in Lexa’s voice, no matter how hard Lexa tried to hide it.

“You’re afraid,” Clarke said, and she found her eyes hardening as much as they could despite the wet she felt pulling at the corners of her vision. “What happened to us, Lexa?” Clarke hated the fact that her voice broke just a little.

Clarke wiped a hand across her face then, and she knew she hated the sniffle she couldn’t hold back as her shoulders began to shake, as the years of pain let themselves known, as the years of hate and anger fuelled her sorrows.

Through it all Lexa remained standing, her shadow the sole thing to touch upon Clarke. But as if Lexa read her mind, Clarke watched as she turned to face her fully, and she took a steadying breath before coming to the ground, legs crossing under her with a grace and a poise Clarke found infuriatingly precise.

And it was awkward, it was strange, it was so unfamiliar to her.

Lexa sat by her side, the woman’s back as straight as ever, and her hands clenched upon her knees as she looked out into a shadow that danced somewhere in the distance. But Clarke thought she sensed the subtleness of change within Lexa’s demeanour.

And so.

“I thought I’d never get over the pain,” Clarke said, and she knew Lexa remembered from the way the woman stiffened just barely beside her. “But I did,” and Clarke looked away once more, she shook her head in the hopes of clearing her mind.

“How?” Lexa asked, and it came so quiet that Clarke thought she imagined it.

But instead of answering Clarke found her thoughts turning to the fear she knew must have been living within Lexa’s mind.

“You’re afraid of whatever’s going to come next,” Clarke said, and she couldn’t help but to shiver just a little as a cold seemed to drift through the empty hallway.

And Clarke’s words were met with a silence she found herself expecting, if only because she knew Lexa sensed more to come.

“It hurt, Lexa,” Clarke said and she turned her face to the woman to find Lexa looking at her with a gaze that seemed to have softened just slightly. “What you did broke me,” and Clarke tried to think of just how to put her pains into words. “And it hurt,” and Clarke wondered if she made sense. “I thought we were in it together, that no matter what, we’d find a way forward.”

And Clarke was sure she heard something slip past Lexa’s lips ever so quietly.

“As partners,” Clarke continued after a moment. “As leaders. As allies,” and she paused for long enough that she knew she held Lexa’s attention, that she held Lexa’s gaze, that she held her thoughts. “As more.”

Lexa’s eyes closed then, and Clarke watched as she turned her face for a moment, for long enough that the pause spoke more loudly than any words could have.

“I couldn’t live with myself,” Clarke said. “I couldn’t face the things I had done,” and she wiped away a tear before pulling the furs a little higher onto her shoulders from where they had slipped down. “So I fled. I ran away. I hid, tried to find myself again,” and Clarke thought explaining what she had done was important, and she hoped it was. If only because she hoped Lexa would understand.

“Cla—”

“Let me finish, Lex,” Clarke said, and the way Lexa’s mouth clicked shut would have been funny, would have been humorous. But only in another life. “I wanted to die,” the truth of her words calmed her, and it seemed odd that speaking so openly was what she had needed. Or maybe it wasn’t. If only because it made her remember, and would never let her forget for she should never forget. “After killing your warriors at the drop ship,” and Clarke wondered what Lexa had thought of her when she had been nothing more than a mark on a map strewn atop a war table, when she had been nothing more than a curse spat from angry lips by a messenger, a scout, a warrior. “I thought I couldn’t live with what I had to do, after killing Finn I thought I couldn’t live with what I had decided to do,” Clarke paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, to order the days of her life into something more easily read, more easily understood. “When you lost Gustus, when you plunged your sword through his heart,” Clarke didn’t mean to bring up old wounds, didn’t mean to incite a pain within Lexa’s own mind, but she did. And she did for she hoped so very deeply that she was not the only one to have such demons. “When Anya died. When I tried to save her, I began to realise that things would happen, that they would always happen and continue to happen that I couldn’t change,” and Clarke sniffled. 

“Anya died a warrior’s death,” Lexa said, and Clarke wondered if Lexa ever imagined what it must have been like for Anya to be trapped inside Mount Weather, to be trapped in a cage, unable to flee or to fight.

“Every death broke me,” Clarke said. “Every single one made me think I couldn’t go on,” and she closed her eyes tightly. “Everyone. From Atom, from your warriors. To Mount Weather. To the children. Every one that deserved to die. And everyone that didn’t,” and Clarke wondered if those deaths weighed as heavily upon Lexa as they did her. “But what drove me mad? What really broke me?” and Clarke bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. “Was the realisation that I could live with myself. That I would be able to kill if I needed to. That I’d do it every single time if it meant saving the ones I cared for,” and Clarke couldn’t bring herself to look upon Lexa’s face, not now, not when she had dared to unshackle the demons that plagued her mind.

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice came out more quiet than it had ever been, and Clarke couldn’t help but to shiver, but to feel her skin prickle and crawl, to feel it come alive with a burning rhythm that bled through every fibre of her body.

And she embraced it.

If only because she hoped the emotion she heard within Lexa’s voice was a fraction of what she had felt for years.

And so Clarke made sure her gaze settled upon Lexa’s, if only because she hoped Lexa would dare to say more.

“I never meant to turn you into this.”

Lexa’s voice broke upon her lips, it seemed to crack just barely at the edges and it seemed to wriggle and writhe and dig its way into the furthest corners of Clarke’s mind.

“You know what also hurt?” and Clarke forced herself to fight through the cracking of her heart. “I thought I was worth more to you,” and she knew she saw Lexa’s facade break, just a little, just enough that she knew she had found a weakness, that she had found a place to wound, to maim and to silence. “After everything we had been through, the pauna. The missile,” and she steadied her breath enough that she knew her next words would come out sure. “The kiss,” and she couldn’t help but to wonder if Lexa ever thought of it, if she ever let herself remember what it had felt like to have their lips pressed together, to have their bodies press into each other’s enough to feel the warmth, enough to feel the strumming of their hearts. “But you turned your back on me, on us. On any future we could have had.”

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered, “I—”

“Don’t say you’d take it back,” Clarke said. “Don’t say you’d make a different decision. Don’t say anything like that because I know it’s not true. Because I know you. I know you’d do what was best for your people,” and she shook her head for a long moment.

They fell silent then, and Clarke found herself trying to come to terms with the things she had said, of the fears and the truths she had laid bare, and she also found herself thinking of Lexa, of whether she tried fighting for the words to say, of how to reach out in words.

And so Clarke’s gaze turned to the wall in front of her, and she eyed a lonely crack that made its way across the surface, and she eyed the uneven surface, she eyed the dirt that clung to it ever so slightly, she eyed the way light danced over every imperfection, that cast shadows large and small, that seemed to breath life into something cold and empty and dark.

Lexa cleared her throat then, and the sound was quiet, barely audible, but Clarke heard it enough to look back to the woman who sat beside her, and she found that the light played tricks with her vision, if only because she saw a sheen to the green eyes that gazed back at her with a brightness and a longing and a regret open only for her to see.

“If I was not Heda,” Lexa began ever so gently, “I would never have chosen to cause you pain.”

Lexa’s words were simple, they were straightforward, short and bittersweet tasting.

But perhaps, above everything else Clarke was sure she heard, she was sure they were a truth.

If only because she hoped they were.

“But you are,” Clarke said, and she wondered if her words cut into Lexa as sharply as her knife cut through flesh. “And you did,” and Clarke wondered if her words twisted in her ribs as much as her heart broke with each life she took. “But that’s ok,” Clarke said. “Because that’s who you are. And because that’s what you did,” and Clarke saw the pain etched across Lexa’s face. “And I know now that I can’t change the past, no matter how much I want to,” and she blinked back the tears that began to find a place in her vision once more. “And I know that living with regret only eats me up inside, only makes me want to scream into the night, to suffer, to feel as much pain as I can.”

“I am sorry, Clarke,” and Lexa’s voice seemed to break for the first time ever, and it made Clarke’s eyes widen just barely a fraction, just enough that she knew Lexa saw, that they both saw an understanding they kept hidden from the world.

“That’s why you’re afraid, Lexa,” and Clarke couldn’t let herself look at the warmth and the tenderness in Lexa’s eyes for too long. “You’re afraid that what you did killed us, that what you did killed any chance of a life you could have had,” and if Clarke was selfish, if she was cruel, if she wished to inflict as much pain and hurt upon Lexa as had been inflicted upon her, she would have said something different than what she knew herself to say next. “Life is about more than just surviving,” and Clarke felt the lump rising in her throat, she felt her heart beginning to tighten, her stomach beginning to coil. “Don’t we deserve better than that?”

“Maybe we do,” Lexa said and Clarke couldn’t help but to lean into the memory, into the way it had once felt, into the moment of quiet they had both stolen in the midst of battle, of death and suffering.

And she couldn’t help but to feel the ache in the very centre of her heart as Lexa remained where she was seated beside her on the cold hard floor in the dark and empty hallway.

Clarke looked down to her hand then, and she watched as her fingers shook, and she found that she didn’t know whether they trembled from the cold, or from the emotions that raged through her body.

She looked to Lexa’s hand, too, and she watched as the woman’s fingers remained white knuckled upon her knee, but if Clarke let herself look closely, she was sure she saw them trembling as much as hers did.

“Can I hold your hand?” Clarke asked, and perhaps, as she let her hand extend ever so slightly, as she let her fingers stretch into the cold of the air, she wondered if she was selfish in hoping Lexa’s heart ached as much as hers did, she wondered if Lexa’s demons kept her awake as much as hers did. And she hoped Lexa cared as much as she did.

And so, as if time had slowed, had come to a crawl, Lexa’s hand reached out, her fingers trembling as much as they dared. But their hands met in the space between them, somewhere in the cold of the air, somewhere close enough to still hold the warmth from their beating hearts.

And perhaps to another it would seem childish, perhaps to another it would seem weak, pathetic, something lonely and sad and desperate. But to Clarke the simple motion of holding a hand made her feel grounded, made her feel steady, made her feel content. Or as content as she ever could be now.

But perhaps most of all, it let her know that Lexa shared the same demons she did, it let her know Lexa’s fears were as strong as her own. And it let her know Lexa cared as much as she did.

If only because she felt the trembling of Lexa’s fingers.

If only because she felt the strumming of Lexa’s pulse.

And so Clarke let her shoulders shake as much as they wished, she let her tears fall as steadily as they desired, and she let the years of pain and suffering, of blame and guilt and anger, anguish and despair take hold.

And she did so.

Because Lexa held her hand.


	31. Epilogue

The summer sun beat down upon the lands for as far as the eye could see. Her brow sweat just a little, yet she didn’t mind, she never did. Especially during the warmest season of the year, when the winds would soothe the warmth of a too fierce day. She turned her face upwards, in search for warmth, in search for something, perhaps one last saving grace before the cacophony of sound would envelop her, or perhaps she did so simply because she could.

Her horse seemed to sense her ease, it seemed to enjoy her comfort, her disregard for whatever troubles could await them on the last stretch of their journey. And she knew it did so, if only because it neighed just a little more happily than it had done since they had left Raska so many days ago.

She heard the telltale signs of life though, and, as always, they started softly, just barely heard upon the wind, but she heard them as keenly as she felt the sun. A laugh, perhaps something full of jovial mirth, perhaps something full of surprise, enthusiasm, eagerness. Or perhaps just life.

She cast her gaze to the horizon though, and she did for she knew what awaited, and so she didn’t quite feel too surprised when she saw the tower that stretched up and up and into the heavens above, whose construction seemed to withstand the winds that would whistle through the trees to break against its walls of stone. Even the flame burning atop made it seem defiant to the colds of winters past, to the gales of storms and to the flooding of rains.

But, even after all the times she had seen it, even after all the times she had been honoured enough to grace its halls, she found that she marvelled at it.

But for why, she could not quite tell.

She heard her name called softly then, she heard the smile in the voice, she heard the eagerness that could barely be hidden.

And so she took a moment to take in the path they travelled, where farm lands spread out around them, where the road, hard packed and beaten to generations of use cut a path forward and to the open gates of the city in the near distance.

She even saw people now, she saw farmers, traders, craftsmen, some with the glowing white scars of the northern cold, of the freezing winds and biting snow. She saw tattoos, circles that dotted faces, arc and slashes, images and pictures and signs of the clans, each with their own unique and gruesome, fearsome and distinct markings. And perhaps one set of tattoos always made her pause for a moment, always made her think back further than she wished. But she couldn’t be blamed, she would never even accept blame and guilt. If only because life hadn’t taken her where it had only for her to fall into the clutches of old haunts.

But she heard her name once more, a little more loudly, a little more probing.

And so she turned to face the woman beside her, whose gaze was kind, weary to the past, eager for the future. Whose face was bright in the sunlight, sharp in the dark of the night, whose golden hair seemed to glow a molten liquid upon red draped shoulders.

“Distracted?” the woman asked simply, and she knew the woman need not pry more than that, felt no desire to do so. But the question itself was all it took for her to know she was cared for, was loved in a way she had lost too long ago.

“No,” she answered with a shrug and a smile. “Not really.”

“Not really?” and an eyebrow rose, the gesture familiar.

“Not really,” and she couldn’t help but to laugh just a little at the way the woman’s eyes rolled, to the way she huffed at a golden strand of hair. “But you are,” and she wasn’t a fool, was hardly a child anymore, was more woman and warrior, adult, even. But only just.

“I am?” and the woman’s voice came out deceptive, came out a little too calm.

“You are,” she answered. “Don’t deny it,” and she couldn’t help but to smirk just barely, if only because she knew now why they made these trips as frequently as they did, why they travelled the plains, braved the forests.

“Maybe I’ll just leave you behind next time,” and she couldn’t suppress the laugh at those words. If only because she knew the woman would never leave her behind.

She smiled, shook her head and let her gaze settle towards the gates of Polis that grew larger and larger with each passing second.

And if she looked hard enough, if she looked close enough, she knew she would see the Commander who stood aside, who pretended to simply be greeting all those who would pass into the great city.

But she knew better.

If only because she felt the woman settle more happily into her saddle, if only because she knew a smile was upon her lips.

If only because she knew the Commander had now laid eyes upon the woman who had suffered so much, who had given her a home, hope, and a life she had thought stolen from her.

And so Jessa smiled as she looked from Clarke to Lexa to find that they both seemed happier than they had moments before.

And she knew why.


End file.
